The Second Sunrise
by Grey Gardenia
Summary: Pre-, during, and post-TDKR. Officer John Blake discovers what it means to lose everything after he thought he had nothing else, and Bane gains something he never thought possible. BlakexOC / OCxBane. Rated for sex and violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Christopher Nolan's Batman series, I am only a poor college student who writes for my own amusement.**

* * *

They meet in the most innocuous way.

Both reach for the door of St. Swithin's Home for Boys at the same time. Awkwardly, she retracts her hand, and he takes the chance to grasp the handle firmly and pull it open for her. "Thank you," she says, stepping into a dim and drafty hall.

"Hey, no problem." The stranger is young and friendly in dark wash jeans and a heavy navy jacket. He follows her inside. "You here to see a kid?"

"Um, kind of, I guess. I'm actually here as the new therapist, it's my first day." She gives him a shy smile as they walk down the hall. She really doesn't know where to go, but she figures that he looks like he's familiar with the place, and it wouldn't hurt to follow. "But if I do my job right, I should be seeing lots of kids."

His light brown eyes light up. "Really? That's great! Man, that's really great. I know that with the budget cuts from a couple years back this place has been really understaffed. I'm glad that you're here, lots of kids could really benefit from some counseling, you know?" He stops in front of a door. "Here's the front office, you'll probably want to check in with Friar Reilly. You'll soon find out he runs a tight ship, but he's a good man."

"Thanks." She smiles again, then turns to the office door.

"Hey, I'm John, by the way. John Blake." He extends a hand, and she accepts it. His palm is warm, the fingers long and firm.

"Evie Chen, nice to meet you."

"So would that be Dr. Chen, then?"

"Just Evie, for people I like." And she decides that she does like him. His face is open, easy, and his smiles are freely given.

* * *

They part then, but she sees him again a week later. It's Evie's lunch break, and she decides to spend it on the rooftop recreation center. Some of the older boys are playing a game of soccer on the basketball court, so she seats herself on the bleachers with her sandwich and a thermos of green tea to watch. It takes her only a few seconds to recognize him on the field, slim and long legged. It's obvious that he holds back to let the kids have their moments to shine, but towards the end of the game he distinguishes himself with a truly spectacular goal that earns him shouts all around and an excited mobbing from the boys. Evie lets out a cheer, and he raises his head, makes eye contact, and grins.

They love him, she thinks as she watches the kids gravitate to him, bounce around him, jump on him and pump him playfully on the arms. It's only been a week for her on the job, and she's already made headway with some of the boys, but she hopes wistfully that one day they can love and admire her the same way that they obviously do with him.

Once the crowd has dispersed, he makes his way to the bleachers. They're old and dirty, so Evie has to scoot down to make room for him to sit without smearing bird feces on his pants. "That was a great shot! Nice to see you again," she says.

"Yeah, you're probably going to see a lot of me from now on." He lowers himself next to her and brushes the dirt off the front of his clothes. "I like to come here on my off days. It's always great to see the kids, and it's good for me. Keeps me young." He grins at her again, looking like a boy himself.

"What do you do for a living?" She set aside her sandwich. It wasn't very good, but between the move to Gotham and starting a new job she hadn't had much time to do any quality grocery shopping, so her lunches had been made of the worst cuts of meat and the cheapest cheese at the store. The tea was good though, and warm, so she sips on that.

He reaches into his jacket pocket and flips open his wallet at her. Evie leans forwards to read it. "Officer John Blake, Gotham City Police Department." She is mildly surprised.

He must've seen it on her face, because he asks, "Not what you expected?"

"I thought you might be a journalist, or a book editor." She was having a hard time imagining this smiley, well-mannered man out on the streets, kicking down doors and arresting hooligans.

Blake laughs, tucking his wallet back into his jacket. "I guess it's true that I don't really look like a tough guy. I've heard this all my life."

"But it didn't stop you from joining the force?"

"Nope. Always wanted to be a cop, ever since I was a kid. Most kids grow out of it, but I never did."

"So you visit boys' orphanages on the off days when you're not out on the streets keeping Gotham safe. You're a regular Officer Friendly, aren't you?"

He looks down and is quiet for a brief moment. Evie is afraid that he hasn't taken well to her joking tone, when he says, "I like to think so. I mean, it's who I try to be. But it's not all I am, you know?" Blake raises his head, and she sees steel flash in his eyes.

"I know." She senses there is more swirling under the surface, but her instincts have taught her to tread lightly where other people's convictions were concerned.

"Do you?"

"I think… underneath, inside each of us, we are more than we seem. And more than others believe we can be."

Blake holds her gaze for a few more seconds, and then suddenly smiles again, all the tension gone from his face at once. "No wonder you're a shrink," he says.

Evie smacks him lightly on the shoulder with her discarded sandwich. "I prefer the term, 'child psychologist.'"

"Seriously, the kids must love it when you say stuff like that. And hey, all jokes aside, they need to hear that more."

"Yeah, I know. I love it here already. It's hard, and I don't always get through to them, but it's been great so far. Though it's also good to talk to another adult for once." She still didn't really know anyone in Gotham, and Blake seemed like a good guy, easy to talk to. And then suddenly she knows what she wants to ask him. "Hey, if you're not busy later, you want to grab a drink when I get off work?"

He looks surprised. "Yeah. Yeah sure, I'd like that."

When she leaves her office later that day at 5, he was waiting for her by the front door. "I don't really know any places yet, so you're going to have to recommend one," she says.

So he takes her to a nearby hang out, small and cozy, and not too loud. They grab seats at the bar. Evie orders a Sex on the Beach (and defended her choice against Blake's teasing with, "What? I'm from SoCal!"); he orders an Old Fashioned. They have a good time chatting and getting pleasantly buzzed, with the occasional friend or acquaintance coming up to greet Blake, and the evening ends when he drives her back to her apartment.

* * *

Evie continues to see him with the boys at St. Swithin's once a week. They have drinks three more times before, while dropping her off for the night, he gets out of his car and takes her right to the door. Every girl knows what this means, and Evie's heart pounds loudly as she looks up at him, fingers playing with her keys nervously.

"I really hope you don't have a secret boyfriend you haven't mentioned yet," he says.

"If you're about to do what I think you are, I really hope so too."

Blake bends his head forwards, and she rises onto her toes to meet him. His lips are soft but firm against hers, and her mouth opens for him like a flower. As his tongue slips in, slowly, languidly, his arms come up and his hands cup her face. Evie's hands float upwards to his shoulders.

When they break apart, he smiles to see her flushed face. "Can I take you out to dinner tomorrow? Like on a date?"

"Will you be wearing a suit?" She grins, feeling happier than she's been in a long time.

"I'll wear whatever you want me to wear, if you'll say yes. I like you a lot. You're something else, you know that? And I want to see what you look like out of your work clothes."

"Then I say yes. Tomorrow at 6?"

He nodded, grinning widely all the while, gave her hand one last squeeze, and then practically skipped back to his beat up old Corolla.

Blake shows up at 6 on the dot. When Evie opens the door, she can't help but swoon a little on the inside. Blake wearing his normal clothes, such as the ones she sees him wear at St. Swithin's, is straight cut and casually attractive. Blake wearing a nice dark dress suit complete with jacket and red tie is…

"Wow. Just- wow," he says, taking in her red halter dress. "You look phenomenal."

"I was just going to say the same of you, actually. Very handsome, Officer Blake."

He takes her to a very nice restaurant in Midtown called D'orsia. There's a doorman, and everyone inside is dressed quite formally. Evie tries not to think about how he probably had to get a reservation a week ahead of time, and how she knows he barely makes anything from his job as a beat cop. She senses that it's been a while since he's been on a date. The food is delicious, but she's mostly just happy to be there with him, listening to his voice, watching his hands handle the cutlery, seeing his eyes light up more often than not during their mealtime conversation.

He tactfully handles the check, and though Evie usually makes it a point to pay for herself on dates with guys she doesn't yet know very well, she lets this one slide. Maybe it's because she sees how happy it makes him to do it.

Afterwards, instead of taking her home he draws her into a little hole in the wall. There's a live jazz band inside, and it's dark and hazy, packed, the crowd somewhat different from what she's used to. This is the real deal, authentic big band jazz from the 30's and 40's, and all the dancers on the floor are elderly couples swinging around merrily.

"Oh my gosh, John!"

He grins and pulls her onto the dance floor. It's a mid-tempo song, cheerful but poignantly beautiful. "This is Artie Shaw's 'Stardust,'" he whispers into her ear, drawing her close. "My parents used to love this song."

They drift along on the floor, slow dancing to the beat. Evie places her head on his chest, since she's too short to reach his shoulder. It feels just fine, though, and as he spins them around she looks dreamily at the other couples on the floor. The elderly women look back at her, nodding and wink approvingly, as if to say, "That's right. Enjoy this, young lady, because it doesn't happen to everyone."

They stay for a long time, drunk on the music and the mood of the night. Finally, as the club closes up for the night, Blake leads her out and drives her back home. The tension between them builds as they go up the steps to the door, but by then Evie's made her decision.

"Why don't you come in?" she asks. _And whatever happens will happen._ She sticks the key in and opens the door.

Almost immediately she feels that something is wrong. She hadn't yet gotten around to unpacking most of her boxes, but even with the lights still off she could tell some of them had been moved, and others had been opened. She froze and one hand reached out to grab Blake's arm.

"Someone's been here…" she whispers.

It takes him a mere second to move her behind him and crouch down. "Stay here," he says firmly in a low voice, and then he advances cautiously into the apartment. He hasn't taken three steps when suddenly a shadowy figure emerges from the hallway.

Evie jumps back but manages to muffle her gasp behind her hand. Blake is pure calm, though. "You're not supposed to be here. Come out here where I can see you," he says. It's his police officer voice, and Evie has never heard it before, but she recognizes the quiet power behind it.

"Like hell!" growls the figure.

Suddenly there is gunfire, Evie screams, and Blake shoves her hard back out the door. He takes cover against the doorframe, and a second later she sees a gun in his hand. "Lay down your weapon now, or I shoot!" he yells. There's no answer, only more shots, so Blake steels himself a moment before he leaning out of the doorframe and firing two shots at the intruder. There's a cry of pain, a loud thud, and lots of cursing from inside. "Are you alone?" yells Blake.

"Fuck you!"

Blake launches himself back inside before Evie can do anything except crane her head after him, terrified that a second assailant will appear and gun him down in front of her. She watches, frozen with fear, as the man on the ground fumbles for his gun as Blake charges him. Before he can reach it, he gets a tremendous right hook to the face and collapses, groaning, on her living room carpet. Only then does Blake look at her over his shoulder. "Stay there, I'm going to check the other rooms."

Evie stares at the man on her floor. His dark blood is leaking out of his leg from where Blake shot him. She really hopes he isn't dead, because how would she ever explain this to her landlord? Or her friends and family back home, who all berated her for her choice to move to Gotham? _The man I'm dating shot a burglar in my home. _She's having trouble even processing the fact that he brought a gun on their date. Was this normal for off-duty cops? She has no idea.

She's not alone with her thoughts too long, because it takes all of fifteen seconds for Blake to check the rest of her tiny apartment. He comes back, but with rope in his hands. Evie has no idea where he found it, and watches dumbly as he ties the man's hands and feet securely behind him, and then to the leg of her coffee table. Not dead, then. Dead men don't run.

"I gotta call this in," he says, reaching for his phone.

When the police come, the neighbors descend as well. They had been too frightened to investigate until the cops arrived on the scene, but now flock around the door of her apartment like rabidly curious vultures. Members of the force collect and wheel away the intruder, and then interview both Evie and Blake, though mostly Blake. He gives a full and complete detailed description of the evening's happenings, even including their date, as a gentle policewoman sat Evie down with a blanket and some tea.

"We're going to canvas this apartment and get back to you with what we find," says the head officer at the scene. "It's a good thing you were here, Blake. This guy wasn't working alone, though he was the only one left by the time you got back." He turns to Evie. "We're sorry this happened to you, Ms. Chen. As we've said, they've made off with some of your belongings, and we'll need this area for investigation and analysis. It would be best if you found different living arrangements for the next week or so while we work on finding the rest of the responsible parties."

Blake puts his hand over her shoulder. "You're welcome to stay at my place if you want. Or I can take you to a hotel if you'd like, or drop you off at a friend's house."

She shakes her head, still dazed. "I don't know anyone, and I'd rather not stay somewhere alone. Not after tonight." Evie reaches up to squeeze his hand. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Of course not. Let's put together some essentials for you to bring over, all right?"

Blake watches her pack a suitcase, into which she haphazardly throws a few clean outfits for work, some underwear, a facial cleanser and a moisturizer, her makeup, and contact solution. He closes the top and carries it to his car, saying, "This is a good amount, you probably don't need to stay away for more than a few days. Unless of course you need more time, which is totally fine." They take their leave of the officers still wrapping up her apartment, and then Blake drives them to his.

Evie's never been to his place before, but she's not surprised to see that he lives in a moderately small and nondescript old brownstone. He takes her up the stairwell to the sixth floor, number 612, and ushers her gently inside. As she's long suspected it might, the place has an air of emptiness about it- not quite sterile, but certainly not homey. The furniture is plain and sturdy, the space of each room uncluttered. There's nothing dirty about it (thankfully she can see no mold or cobwebs, and no mountain of dirty dishes in the sink) but it's definitely not Wayne Manor.

He starts apologizing as soon as she's taken off her coat. "I know it's not much, I rarely have people over. To me, this is just a place to sleep every night, you know? I try to live as much of my life out there—," he points out the window, "—as possible."

"It's fine, really." It's exactly the sort of place she would expect a poor but career-driven bachelor to live, and she finds that it suits him well.

He lets her have the first shower, and it's only after Evie's done that she realizes she forgot to bring any pajamas with her. Embarrassed, she comes out in a towel and asks if he has an old shirt she could borrow. He rummages around an old wardrobe and finally comes up with a shirt from his old days at the police academy, the letters GCPD proudly emblazoned on the front in bold golden font. It's comfortable the way old clothing is always comfortable, and it goes all the way down to her knees, so she doesn't bother with a bra or pants, opting instead for just the shirt and underwear.

Blake disappears into the bathroom after she comes out, and without even thinking about it, Evie collapses onto his bed, her long wet hair flared out cold and slightly sticky around her head. The alarm clock on the nightstand tells her it's almost 4 AM. The light and pleasant smell of his generic shampoo surrounds her. She turns over, blindly pulls the comforter over herself, and promptly passes out.

Everything else is just going to have to wait until the morning.

* * *

**Author's notes:** A little late to the party, I know, but I just saw TDKR a few nights ago and I absolutely fell in love with John Blake. I've always enjoyed JGL's work, and I definitely think this is another strong performance for him with a really great character. So in a way, it hurts me to have to do this to him in my story!

However, as Bruce Wayne knows, behind every great man is a great woman (or several, as in his case). I just feel that there's no way Blake doesn't have someone in his life, someone who pushes him to do better, work harder. A man can't live on revenge for long; there must be something to keep him going, especially with his future ahead of him. Somehow, I just imagine that person to be an ordinary woman who brings out the extraordinary in him.

I don't ship BanexBlake but I do feel that Bane story arc in TDKR is perfect for what I have in mind.

Cheers and thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Christopher Nolan's Batman series, I am only a poor college student who writes to amuse myself. Some of this chapter's dialogue comes directly from The Dark Knight Rises.**

* * *

Blake blinks awake, and it takes him a moment to remember that he's on his living room couch. He lies there for a few more seconds before standing. The light coming in through the windows is still weak and grey; it's that time of transition, when night fades into day. He couldn't have slept more than three hours, but his internal clock is too strong to fight.

Normally he would do some morning exercises to get the blood pumping, but not today. He tiptoes to the doorway of his bedroom, and sees Evie's long dark hair flared out on his pillows like a halo. The rest of her is still huddled beneath his comforter. He can hear her quiet, even breathing.

The sight is strangely arresting, and he tries to remember the last time he had a woman in his bed. _God, it's been a long time._ As quietly as he can manage, he crosses the room to enter the bathroom, and closes the door behind him.

His face in the mirror is pale and drawn from lack of sleep. Splashing it with water does little to improve the pallor. Blake spends a moment considering his reflection. As far as his looks go, he doesn't see himself as being either attractive or unattractive. Oh, sure, there's been the occasional woman in his life, and that means something, he guesses, but it's not everything.

It's not that he doesn't wish he were taller, stronger. It's only that growing up in an orphanage, and phasing through half a dozen foster homes before joining the police academy instilled a certain disregard for his own physicality within him. He never quite expects to make it through the next robbery or shootout, no matter how many he's been called to. When he's hurt on the job, there's only acceptance, no surprise. Blake doesn't have the luxury of surprise. He knows that sooner or later, he's going to get seriously injured or killed, and therefore tries not to get too attached to this physical body.

His face is the most important part of his body, but it's also the part he hates the most.

When he comes out of the bathroom, Evie is awake and standing by the window. It's a bit lighter now, so rays of sun surround her. He's suddenly aware that he hadn't thought to put on a shirt, and the intimacy of the moment makes him slightly unsure of how to proceed. How do you comfort the girl you're seeing after her house was broken into, and she spent the night at your place but you didn't sleep with her?

"Morning," says Blake. That's always a good start. "Sorry if I woke you while I was in there."

"You didn't." She sits on the edge of the bed. "John, I just want to thank you for everything. I think you saved my life last night. If we hadn't gone out, if I'd been alone at home, I don't know—"

"Hey, it's ok. No one got hurt, and we'll soon find out what he took and why." He moves to sit next to her, feeling much less calm about the incident last night than he lets on.

"Well, he got hurt, didn't he? You shot him in the leg." There's no accusation in her voice, just fact.

"I did. Twice."

"I've never seen that side of you before. You were… a different person."

_No, I was myself,_ he thinks. But out loud he says, "It's my police officer persona. Keeping the two parts of myself separate helps me to do what I have to."

Evie nods. "Cognitive disassociation."

"Something like that, yeah."

"You never told me why you joined the police force. I mean, I know lots of people do it because they don't really know what else to do. Or they really enjoy it, the power and the violence. But I saw you last night. You didn't enjoy it."

"Heh." He brings his hands up to rub his face. "It's uh… it's not really a first date kinda story."

"I think we passed that point when you shot a man in my living room. Twice."

"Well, you're right. I didn't enjoy having to do it. I did it because I was angry." He looks at her. Even after having slept in his bed, wearing his shirt (and _oh god_ he can see the outline of her nipples through the fabric), she looks so clean and earnest and still fresh from sleep.

Blake takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "My mom died when I was small. It was a car accident, I don't really remember it. But uh, my dad got shot a couple years later for a gambling debt. And I remember that one just fine. Not a lot of people know what it feels like, to be angry… in your bones. I mean, they _understand_. Foster parents, everybody _understands._ For a while. Then they want the angry little kid to do something he knows he can't do: move on. So after awhile they stop understanding. They send the angry kid to a boys' home. I figured it out too late. You gotta learn to hide the anger, practice smiling in the mirror. It's like putting on a mask."

Two twin tears roll slowly down her cheeks. "John…" she breathes. "I—"

"Being on the force lets me feel like I have some measure of control again, you know? I don't have to just stand by. It lets me sate the anger, if only for a little while." He looks down, squeezes his hands into fists. "It's the only thing I have left."

Blake expected her to be sad. He knows from watching her with the kids at St. Swithin's that she has a soft heart. And he expects, in her own quiet way, that she would retreat from him, scared off by his admission of anger and desire for revenge writ large on the criminal world. All the other women he's dated do this.

So he isn't prepared when she leans forward and kisses him without preamble. First her hands are on his thighs, and then she moves forward onto him, straddling his legs. The effect is immediate— his cock stirs and begins to rise as his hands move behind her to hold her back. The kissing is slow and lazy; it's Sunday, and no one expects anything of them today. It feels like they have all the world waiting on them.

Blake lifts her and turns them so that she's lying on the bed. Evie grips his shoulders and brings him back down to her, but he pulls away from her lips before long to trail down and kiss the slender column of her neck. She wiggles beneath him and moves to take off the police academy shirt, but he gently moves her hands aside and does it himself. She's lovely, her skin smooth and pale, her dusky brown nipples topping a pair of small but round breasts. He covers one with his hand, squeezing gently, and leans over to lick the other. Evie tries and fails to stifle a moan as he circles one sensitive areola, careful not to actually touch the stiffed nipple itself.

He spends a generous amount of time toying with one and then the other, ignoring her mewls and sighs. She arches beneath him, attempting to bring that teasing mouth closer to her aching breasts, but he always pulls away before coming back to torment her.

After Evie lets out a particularly loud and frustrated groan, he chuckles and then, in one long lick, laves her nipple completely with his dexterous tongue. Before she can demand the same treatment for the other one, he's moved on, going down to her panties, which he removes with the same tenderness as he did with her shirt.

A blush blooms on her cheeks, but her legs fall open for him, exposing her sex like a ripe peach. Blake strokes the outside of her mound, and then lets his index finger trace the line of her slit, pressing in gently until he finds the little nodule of hyper-sensitive nerves with his thumb. Her whole body is tense with anticipation before him, so he slides in his finger slowly, rubbing her clit in little circles all the while. It's easy going, because she is so wet for him, and after a few leisurely pumps he adds a second, and then a third finger. She throws her head back, tossing it from side to side every time his thumb presses down on her clit, breathing heavily.

His erection is raging now, demanding attention. He withdraws his fingers from her and strips off his pants. Moving quicker than he thought possible, he gets off the bed, yanks open the top drawer of his nightstand, removes a small square package, rips it open, and puts on the condom. Then he's back on the bed, and she places one leg on either side of him, and gives him a nod.

The first push is met with some resistance; she's wet and he's worked her up with his fingers, but she's still a small woman. The second push slides in, though, and with a grunt he sinks himself all the way in. She's so tight around him that the pleasure is almost on the same side as pain. Both of them are sweating and panting, but she wraps her legs around his waist and presses against his buttocks with her heels, urging him on. Slowly, he withdraws until the tip is almost out, and then slowly presses all the way back in. He keeps the pace measured, pumping in and out with long deliberate strokes, making sure to angle himself so that the ridges of his cock run against her clit each time he moves. It takes Blake everything to keep from spending himself quickly with a few quick thrusts, but her face and her constant gasps and wriggling against him make it more than worth the effort.

Evie shudders and cries out, her walls undulating around his cock, nails digging into his shoulders. Blake lets out a mighty groan as he follows her, the primal power of feeling his seed shooting into her overwhelming.

They lie there panting for long moments, her hands curled in his short brown hair, breasts heaving against his chest, until with a wet squelch he withdraws his spent penis and rolls onto his back, bringing her against his side.

"Thank you," she whispers against his neck, and then lets out a breathy laugh. "That was my first orgasm."

"The first of many, if I have anything to say about it."

And though they're both sweaty and sticky, they fall asleep pressed together even as full bright rays stream into the room, the sunlight washing over their bodies.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Obviously this chapter is from Blake's POV. I love writing him, I find him to be so much more of a subtle character than I thought at first just from watching the movie. Of course I had to include that amazing monologue where he confronts Bruce, though I use it in a different way. In the movie this is part of him telling Bruce that he knows he's Batman; here I use it to let Evie know how and why Blake is who he is. It was such a perfect piece of dialogue, I could never have written it better.

Kudos to those who caught the Dorsia reference! If you haven't seen _American Psycho_, I strongly suggest it. Without a doubt one of Christian Bale's best roles ever.

I apologize for the much shorter chapter this time, but hey, you got some sex out of it! Sweet jesus, I got my ladybits all moist just writing this thing...

Cheers and thanks for reading! Special thanks for those who reviewed and/or favorited!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Batman, I only write this for my own amusement. **

**I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed. Seriously- as a writer, nothing makes my day like getting a positive review, so thank you, thank you, thank you. It keeps me motivated to write more and to write better! If you like my work, please let me know. If you don't like it, tell me why. Cheers, and hope you enjoy!**

* * *

They have one lazy Sunday together, so after Blake and Evie have woken from their morning nap, they decide to make the most of it. After a much needed cold shower, Evie walks into the kitchen to find that he's already set up coffee and buttered toast. It's a simple meal, but hearty and filling. A quick peek inside his refrigerator and pantry, however, reveals only a skeleton crew of dietary essentials: lots of canned foods, and lots of boxed dinners. In other words, it's the kitchen of a solitary man who's rarely at home.

She wonders sadly when he'd last had a really well cooked homemade meal. Resolving to rectify the situation immediately, Evie declares that she will shop and cook for him as a thank you.

Thus, that night she treats him to lemon thyme chicken over a garlic rice pilaf, and a strawberry balsamic salad. She would have whipped up a dessert as well, but seeing as he didn't own any of the necessary kitchen tools to make any, they decide to just pick up a few slices of cheesecake from the store. Evie insists on paying for the food, though god knows that as the therapist of an orphanage she's just as poor as he is.

Then after dinner Blake insists on thanking her for the meal in his own way— this is how they end up thrusting against one another and moaning loudly on the kitchen floor, to the extreme displeasure of the neighbors below.

"We really need to stop being so nice to each other, or your neighbors are going to file a formal complaint and get you evicted," Evie says after, grinning against his shoulder. It's hard to feel worried or tense about anything when you've just had your second orgasm in a day.

"They can try, but it probably won't do them any good. My partner's sister owns this building." He brushes a slick strand of hair from her forehead and places a kiss there. "Don't worry, we can have as much loud sex as you want or are capable of."

"Good to know." She swings her leg over his hip and grinds her crotch against his. "Because I'm not done with you yet."

* * *

The next day Evie has a whole list of things to take care of. Firstly, she calls Friar Reilly to let him know about the break-in, and to inform him that she'll need a day off. He graciously agrees, adding that she can take as many days off as she needs, as long as she manages to drag that young rake Officer Blake back to St. Swithin's every weekend.

Then, Blake takes her back to her apartment so that she can take a good look around and determine what's been taken. He asked to be given the lead in this case, and since so far it seems to be a regular hit and run, the superiors grant it to him. Dressed in his dark blue uniform, he helps her investigate the apartment, now thoroughly canvassed by police.

It takes her a while, mostly because the boxes in her living room were moved aside or completely overturned during the gunfight, but eventually she comes to the conclusion that the only thing missing is a filing cabinet that had been filled with the medical records and psychological profiles of her former patients. They were from her previous job as an associate at a mental health firm in California, but Evie had brought her copies of the records with her during the move because she didn't really know what else to do with them.

Why a criminal in Gotham City would break into her home and start a gunfight over some old medical records from patients across the country, she could not begin to guess. Blake seems puzzled as well. "And you're sure nothing else is missing?" he asks. "Jewelry, electronics?"

"As far as I can tell… everything else is here."

Evie also squares some things with her landlord, namely that she will be staying somewhere else until the police investigation is over, and that she will not pay rent during the time that she remains away. This is done on Blake's urging, and he insists that she stay with him until he can confirm the safety of the situation. Her landlord is not pleased, but Blake's presence and the hand resting casually on his standard issue Glock doesn't give much room to argue.

Blake then takes her to the station so they can write up some paperwork. She dutifully fills in everything he hands her, and signs them, "Evelyn Chen." It takes the better part of the afternoon, but that's okay, because the station is quiet and no one bothers them. It's been this way for years now, quiet and sluggish, ever since crime rates dropped to an all-time low in Gotham, thanks to the Dent Act.

And, of course, to the hard work of Commissioner Gordon, who passes by Blake's desk several times during the course of the afternoon. Evie thinks he looks impossibly weary, the kind of weariness that cannot be remedied by rest and relaxation. His is a fatigue that goes bone deep; it lies on top of him as he goes to bed at night, and is still there when he wakes in the morning. Blake idolizes him, she knows, though the older man takes no notice of either of them. When they're done for the day, and most of the other cops at the station are trickling out, Gordon can still be seen pacing incessantly in his office.

On their way back to Blake's apartment, they stop to pick up more groceries and, most importantly, more condoms.

* * *

Like most bookish girls, Evie grew up believing that a woman could not hope to be both intellectual and sexual. She was already a college graduate before ditching her glasses and getting contact lenses, and eschewed makeup until after medical school, when she started working full time. There was simply too much at stake; attractive girls were simply not taken as seriously as clever, hardworking girls.

Her longtime ex-boyfriend, who she met in college and dated all throughout med school, always pushed her to look nicer. He was older, a successful stock trader who traveled in high circles. What Evie never had the courage to tell him was how much she hated being compared to the trophy wives and girlfriends of his fellow colleagues. Oh, she knows she's attractive enough to be taken to Charlie's fancy parties without shame, even if she's just a recent grad with a PhD in child psychology and not a Brazilian-German bikini model, but really it's just that Charlie never bothered to make his world attractive to her.

To be fair, it wasn't all bad. He was always kind to her, and they had sex often (pleasurable, if not orgasmic). He also made obscene amounts of money. Sadly, he dumped her the night he learned that he had been promoted to be general manager of the Seoul branch of Pearson Davis. Her parents had loved his jovial, robust, golden-boy Americanism though.

Evie already knows how her wealthy Asian parents would react if they knew she was now dating a 28 year old orphaned beat cop with barely anything to his name.

Maybe that's why she likes him so much. Blake has nothing, so he's not afraid to give everything. To his job, and to her.

Now that she knows about his parents, his past, and his connection to St. Swithin's, it's easy to see the fire beneath the surface. It peeks out at odd moments, like when the stove doesn't light on the first try, or when someone runs a red light in front of him but he can't do anything about it because he's off duty. It's easier to see now which is the mask, and which is the real Blake.

And it's the real Blake who makes love to her tenderly in the shower that night, his breath hot in her ear as he pushes her against the glass from behind. Like everything he does, each thrust is gentle but firm, reaching all the way to the core of her being before withdrawing.

_This is it_, Evie thinks, the hot shower steam sending rivulets of water and sweat trickling between her breasts. _If we didn't have anything else but the person we loved, and this… it would be enough. It's everything else that gets in the way, makes us unhappy creatures who always want more._

Then Blake thrusts upwards with a long, deliberate stroke, and the sweet ache overwhelms her and she stops thinking entirely, weak-kneed with release.

* * *

The next day Evie is back at work. She still feels her newness strongly at the orphanage, though both Friar Reilly and Blake tell her that the boys have taken a shine to her already. She hopes so, she always tries to make their sessions fun as well as intimate. It's almost never easy, but there hasn't been one day that she regretted moving to Gotham, and these boys are a huge part of that.

This morning she scheduled a session with Mark, whose older brother Jimmy was phased out a few weeks before she arrived at St. Swithin's. Evie has met with Mark twice before, and she gets the impression of a very bright but often sullen young boy. He hasn't taken to his brother's absence very well, and Friar Reilly fears that this turn of events might make him more intractable than ever.

Before she calls Mark out of his morning classes though, she decides to take a quick glance over his files. Her office is small and cramped, and everything is so close together that she doesn't even have to get up from her desk to reach the filing cabinets.

Except that when she opens them, they are empty. And when she opens the drawer next to that one, it is empty too. Within a few seconds, she has ascertained that all the medical records of every child at St. Swithin's is gone.

Evie's heart leaps into her throat. It is one thing to lose the profiles and records of ex-patients from across the country; it is quite another to find that the current files of her young charges have been stolen. She whips out her cell phone.

"John," she says when the call connects, "I don't think the break-in was an isolated incident. Someone's been in my office."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Surprise! You didn't think I made those burglars break into Evie's home just so that she had an excuse to crash at Blake's place and have hot sex, did you? It's all connected, and will be revealed later.

So in this chapter I give a bit more backstory on Evie. I'm definitely going to try and portray her as the one normal person amidst all these huge larger-than-life figures like Blake, Bane, Catwoman, Talia, and Batman.

The events of TDKR will be unfolding in the next chapter, and I promise Bane is coming soon. I just saw the movie again, which helped me to clarify my intended characterization of Bane a lot more. It's taking me every bit of self-control I have not to read any more of other people's Bane fics because I don't want to be influenced by anything other than my own perceptions of the movie. I also promise that things will move more quickly from here on out. Hopefully you guys will like it.

As always, thanks for reading and following/favoriting/reviewing!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Batman, I only write for my own amusement.**

* * *

Blake is on night duty for the week, so by 2 AM he's still at his desk at the Major Crimes Unit, puzzling over Evie's call earlier that day and the case of the stolen psych files. As a police officer, it's not his job to connect the dots (that's for detectives), but still he keeps turning this bit of information over in his head. It's like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle when you're missing most of the pieces.

Something big is coming, he can feel it in his bones. He just doesn't know what it is.

A tap on the shoulder brings him out of his reverie. It's Ross, his partner. "Got a call from Congresman Gilly's wife, apparently he never made it home from the benefit. She wants Gordon on it personally, though he's probably just passed out drunk in some corner of Wayne Manor."

"Isn't Gordon still at that thing?"

"No, he left early, as always. Heard he can't stand those fancy shindigs. Try and find him, will you? I gotta go call the wife back and let her know we're on it."

Blake checks the police commissioner's office first. It's empty, so then he goes to second most likely place. And there he is, on the MCU rooftop, standing next to that now-iconic skylight, devoid of its bat signal as it has been for the past eight years. He wonders if Gordon is aware of how much Blake respects him. To be sure, it is the fallen Harvey Dent who is seen as the real savior of Gotham, the one that every child learns about and wants to be. And even Batman, too, had his day before supposedly murdering Dent.

But Gordon is still here, still fighting every day, and that's what makes him Blake's hero.

That, and their mutual admiration for the Batman. Maybe the rest of Gotham thinks differently, but Blake strongly suspects, and he knows Gordon does too, that there is a much deeper story to tell than the one fed to the public.

"Don't you want to know who he was, sir?" Sometimes it takes him everything not to tell the commissioner about his suspicions as to the real identity of Gotham's dark hero. But he never does, because it's not his secret to tell. Maybe one day he would get his chance to ask.

"I know who he was," says Gordon, patting his shoulder. "He was the Batman."

* * *

A few hours later, at dawn, he gets a call telling him that a dead body has washed up outside of a major sewage outflow. When he and Ross arrive at the scene, his breath hitches in his throat.

"That's one of the boys from my- where I coach ball," he says, correcting himself hastily. "His name's Jimmy." It's another arrow that points back to St. Swithin's, and to Evie.

He hurriedly drives over to the orphanage, speaking first with Friar Reilly, then with Evie.

"He was Mark's older brother, wasn't he?" she asks.

"He was. Good kid, sharp as a knife. Fell off the map when he phased out, though. Makes me wish I'd stayed in touch with him somehow…"

Evie squeezes his hand. "I'll go tell Mark you want to talk to him."

"Tell him to meet me on the roof. It's where his best memories of Jimmy are from."

* * *

His meeting with Mark was both sad and heartening. The kid doesn't show it, but he's hurting. Jimmy was all he had in this world. But it's nice to see another fellow Batman supporter, even if as a member of the police force he technically cannot let his personally feelings on the matter be known.

The GCPD cannot be seen to support the actions of a villainous thug who hides his face and murdered Harvey Dent, after all.

Perhaps most importantly, Mark revealed that Jimmy was only one of many young men who disappeared into the sewers of Gotham.

"But… why?" asks Evie, as he recounts the meeting with her later in her office.

"All he said was that there was work to be found there." He brings his hands to his face and rubs his eyes. It's been a long night, and looks to be an even longer day.

"_Work?_ Down in the sewers?"

"It's what he said. I'm going to have to go back to the station and pull up construction permits for the sewage system."

"Do you have to do that now? You should get some sleep first."

Blake puts his hand behind Evie's neck and kisses her hair. "I can't, not yet. Something's happening, something big. It's right around the corner and I need to know what it is."

She nods. "Okay. Just take care of yourself, alright? Try to squeeze in a power nap at your desk or something. I'll keep a plate warm for you if you're not back by dinner."

"Thanks, babe. I'll be fine, don't worry. I have you looking out for me now, which is much better than before." It's true; many a night he would stumble back to his apartment, exhausted, before heating up some macaroni and cheese and then passing out in bed. At least now he got proper meals in between shifts.

* * *

_Shit, there is no way I'll be home for dinner_, Blake thinks as he takes cover behind a police car. All around him, his fellow officers are taking heavy fire. _Whoever these people are, they're not fucking around._

Dispatch had called all available Major Crime units to some skeezy divebar on the lower west side; a signal from Congressman Gilly's cell phone had been traced. Kidnapping was strongly suspected, and due to the high priority nature of the case, even SWAT had been called in. Congressman Gilly had been found on the floor of the bar, shot in the arm and drunk off his ass, but otherwise alright.

Commissioner Gordon and Deputy Foley arrive on the scene just as the gunmen flee down an alleyway. "Search up the fire escapes!" yells Foley. Men spring forwards.

"No, check the manhole!" Gordon kneels to lift the circular manhole cover. "And get someone from DWP down here, now! You, and you, with me!" He climbs down the hole, followed by two men. They disappear in the darkness, and then suddenly there's gunfire, and an explosion that causes the men peering directly down the manhole to fall backwards.

"We gotta go down there!" yells Blake.

"That was a gas explosion, we can't!" replies Foley.

"Can't have been a gas explosion, it's a sewer!"

"We have no idea what's down there!"

"We know what's down there, sir: the police commissioner," says Blake.

Foley growls to no one in particular, "Someone get this hothead out of here!"

Blake turns away, frustrated beyond belief. Screaming internally, he imagines a Gotham without Gordon, and the thought is terrifying. The image of Jimmy's dead body, floating out of a sewer grate, springs to mind… and suddenly he knows what he has to do.

Sprinting for his car, he tries to call up a mental map of Gotham's sewage outflows. If Gordon is down there, he has to come out one way or another. Blake speeds first to one location and then another until on his fourth pick he finds the police commissioner, face down in the murky water.

Panic seizes him as he leaps in, pulls the older man onto his lap. Gordon sputters and coughs; a stream of water is expelled from his mouth. "Commissioner Gordon!" he yells. _He's alive_, Blake realizes, reaching for his radio.

_He's alive…_

* * *

When Blake stumbles back into his apartment at 3 AM, he finds Evie asleep on the living room couch, fallen on the floor beside her outstretched hand. He picks her up gently, carries her to bed, and lays down next to her. Still in his officer's uniform and boots, he slings his arm around her waist and falls asleep with his nose buried in her hair.

It feels like he's only just closed his eyes before he has to open them again, Evie's gentle gardenia and ginger scent filling his nose. She's moving away from him, but he lacks the strength to stop her. Only when she's already turned off the alarm clock on the nightstand does he realizes that the blaring noise was what woke him up in the first place.

"Hi," she says, laying back down and snuggling up to him. "When did you get back last night?"

"I'm not sure…" His eyelids feel like they weigh a ton.

"I have to get to work, but there's food in the fridge for you to warm up. Just stay in bed today, ok?" She cups his cheek. He wants to tell her how grateful he is that she doesn't even care about him sleeping in his clothes and his shoes. This sort of thing usually bothers women a lot, doesn't it?

Then he remembers what it is he has to do today. "I can't. I... I have to go see someone."

Evie squints at him. "You've just worked for 36 straight hours. It's your day off. Who do you have to see that's more important than getting rest you desperately need?"

"Bruce Wayne."

* * *

Bruce Wayne— once Gotham's most famous hellraiser, playboy, and multi-billionaire. Surely the _only_ Gothamite to have fallen so far so fast within living memory. The man in front of him now, unkempt and leaning heavily on a cane, is a mere ghost of who Blake suspects he once was.

"He needs you. He needs the Batman," he says to Wayne now.

"Commissioner Gordon thinks…"

"Nah, he doesn't know or care who you are. But, we've met before. It was a long time ago, St. Swithin's. It's an orphanage, used to be funded by the Wayne Foundation." He launches into his story, trying desperately to connect to this man, so distant from the world right outside the walls of Wayne Manor, to convince him of what needs to be done. "We used to make up stories about you. Legends. And you know, to the other kids, that's all it was, just stories. But right when I saw you I knew who you really were. I'd seen that look on your face before. It's the same one I taught myself."

Wayne stands utterly still, his face inscrutable.

Blake gets to his feet. "I don't know why you took the fall for Dent's murder. But I'm still a believer in the Batman, even if you're not."

As he leaves the grounds, he thinks back to all those times as a kid when he would dream of Batman coming to save him from the orphanage, or whatever foster family he was living with at the time. This was his ultimate fantasy; in a way, he had yearned for it even more than he wished for his parents back. His mother had died too early for him to remember much about her, and his father had stopped being much of a parent after that.

He never realized how lucky he was to be put through the state system until much later; plenty of children never even get the chance. It hadn't really worked for him, but it did put him through school, which led to the police academy. And it was better than living hard and dying young out in the streets.

_Or in the sewers_, he thinks.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So here we have a frantic, action-packed chapter from Blake. The ball is really rolling now! One of the most challenging parts of writing for me is how to present the events of the movie without basically writing out the whole film, because that's easy and no fun to read.

Instead I'm trying to present all the movie scenes from Blake's POV, adding a bit of his own thoughts behind each one, without writing out every word of dialogue from the film. And also, of course, finding creative ways to insert Evie's story arc into the overall plot. Sadly, we have no sex in this chapter because there's just too much going on and poor Blake is exhausted.

BANE COMING SOON, I PROMISE.

**Also,** **I regret to say that I will not be updating for about a week**. One of my best friends is getting married out of state, so I will be partying it up for a few days, and I do not intend to bring my laptop with me. Sorry! I promise to continue writing as soon as I return though. I've still got so much of this story left to write, I'm not ready to give up yet!

Thanks as always to those who followed/favorited! Reviews are _greatly_ appreciated and are always the best part of my day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Batman. **

* * *

Evie swirls around in her swivel chair, tapping a pen against her teeth. Ever since the break-in, she's felt on edge even in her own office. Security at St. Swithin's is laughably poor; they don't even have an electronic alarm system. The sad truth is that no one cares enough about orphans to provide better, and even Friar Reilly can only shrug and pat her shoulder sadly when she asks about upgrading the old locks on the doors.

"Once upon a time," he said to her, "the good people of Gotham cared about those who were less fortunate. And then a time came when there was terrible corruption and crime everywhere. Now there's no more of that, but still good people turn their heads away from these poor children."

Since it can't be helped, Evie continues to go to work everyday, but now she brings her own homemade version of mace with her. It's one part lighter fluid, one part rubbing alcohol, and one part strong white vinegar in a plastic spray bottle. Her purse smells like a chemical dump, but at least she feels some small measure of safety.

Blake brought up the possibility of taking her to get some gun training, but as a medical professional the thought of owning one distresses her. She's used to seeing him handle his standard issue Glock, but she's never touched it and doesn't want to.

Somehow the fact that someone robbed both her home and her office disturbs her less than the fact that those medical and psychological files are now in someone else's hands. Evie doesn't even know how to start remedying this problem. MCU has already been informed of course, but they're still no closer to tracking down the culprit than they were the night it happened.

She called her local branch of the Psychiatric Association for Children, but got bounced around for an hour without anyone offering her any assistance or advice.

No one cares about orphans.

_Except, of course, for other people who work at orphanages_. Even in the privacy of her office, Evie shakes her head and rolls her eyes at herself. How could it have taken her so long to think of it? _Stupid, stupid…_

Reaching for her phone with one hand and her laptop with the other, she looks up the numbers for other orphanages within the city limits of Gotham and calls them. Astonishingly, one by one they give her the same story: each location had experienced a break in and theft of psychological/medical records within the past three weeks.

Now that she knows more, it's easier to fit the pieces together. Jimmy, dead by the sewage outflow. Mark, telling Blake that the sewers were rife with youth because that was where work could be found. Commissioner Gordon, who survived a terrifying brush with death by a massive masked man also in the sewers. And now, the combined disappearance of all orphaned psychological profiles and records in the city. _He's recruiting from the young and dissolute based off of psychological profiling…_

She is still reeling from this realization when her office door flies open. It's Jan Summers, one of the teaching staff. "Dr. Chen, you better come and see this."

"What is it?" Evie follows Summers down the hall and into the teachers' lounge, where all the other staff members are seated or standing around the television, their eyes glued to the screen.

"We can now confirm that there has indeed been a hostile takeover of the Gotham City stock exchange," says the GCTV news anchor. "There are reports of heavy gunfire from inside, and hundreds are being held hostage. We now bring you live on-site coverage. Steve, how does it look from where you stand?"

The focus shifts to a balding man in his forties, standing approximately fifty meters from the entrance to the stock exchange. Behind him, swarms of cop cars are visible in all directions. "Thank you, Monica. The situation is indeed dire. Minutes ago we heard automatic rifle shots, and those who were lucky enough to be near the doors and escaped are telling us that there is a group of men, armed and extremely dangerous, who have taken control of the entire building." Steve's voice takes on a dubious tone. "Leading them is apparently an enormous man with a mask and a red motorcycle helmet."

The camera pans out, sweeping over the scene at large. Suddenly Evie's eyes pick out a single figure out of the fray; even though there are easily a hundred officers on the scene and the camera only passes over him once, she _knows_ that profile.

"Oh, it's John," she groans. Some of her coworkers titter sympathetically.

Friar Reilly relinquishes his seat on the couch and gently pushes her onto it. "I pray for his safety," he says solemnly. "Though I have no doubt that he will come to no harm. He's a sharp one, that Blake, and those gunmen are outnumbered ten to one."

"Look, people are coming out!" cries Jan.

Sure enough, a slow stream of people are walking out of the building. They are stock brokers, dressed in suits and ties. Then before anyone can react, five motorcycles burst through the crowd of hostages, and zoom past the police cars that are packed so tightly together, they could never hope to quickly catch up.

Even in the confusion, Evie spots Blake jumping behind the driver's seat of a cop car, Deputy Foley getting into the passenger seat beside him. Then they're off, tires squealing wildly against the pavement.

"Monica, come in! Monica, did you see that?!" Steve's face pushes itself back inside the camera frame. "Five of the gunmen have escaped by motorcycle!"

What follows is several minutes of frantic back-and-forths from the news anchors at the station and reporters coming in with live feed throughout the city, trying to provide accurate coverage of the chase. Evie, famous amongst her friends for never being able to finish a stick of deodorant, is sweating through her pencil skirt and blazer with nerves. All she can think about is how utterly exhausted Blake has been this week, how she begged him to take a few days off, and how he shrugged off her concerns.

Finally GCTV launches their news helicopter, and viewers are given an aerial shot of the action. The staff of St. Swithin's watches as the motorcyclists are purused by what looks like at least half the entire police force. The riders disappear under a tunnel. When they emerge from the other end, however, they are not alone.

For the first time in eight years, cries of, "It's Batman!" ring out in Gotham. And there he is, a black phantom, cape billowing like a perpetual cloud, speeding after the remaining motorcyclists (of which there are now two fewer) on his own monstrous bike.

Being a very new Gothamite, Evie doesn't relate to the Batman in quite the same way as those around her. It's hard to care too much about a man in a crazy suit, cape, and bat mask when you're all the way across the country, even if he was more or less responsible for the eradication of organized crime in the city. Batman is unique to Gotham in that way. He was once their savior, then their demon. And now he's returned…

The lead motorcyclist in the red helmet suddenly turns his bike around, speeding past the Batman and the hoard of police cars behind him. Astonishingly, none of them make a move to follow him. Instead, it looks suspiciously as though the police are tailing the Batman instead.

"But… what are they doing?" sputters Evie. "What about the _armed robbers_?"

"Which is more important, a couple of low-life crooks, or the bastard who killed Harvey Dent?" asks Jan vehemently. Like many young women, Jane idolized the handsome former DA of Gotham, and even carried in her wallet a miniature picture of him. She'd showed it to an astonished Evie the first time they had lunch together. Harvey Dent was the closest thing Gotham had to a saint, after all, even if he was long martyred.

Evie herself was not so sure. What she knew was that Blake's inspiration came in equal parts from his parents' deaths as from his admiration of the Batman. Why exactly this was, she could not say, but she knew Blake would never idolize a person without good reason. Ad his supposed turnaround from being Gotham's biggest crimefighter to a cold-blooded murderer did seem extremely inconsistent. But equally, she believed that such a huge truth could not be kept from the public for long.

An entire city watched as Batman took out the last of the robbers. Trapped on all sides, Batman blasted down the ramp of a tow truck and used it to escape up the highway. More and more police cars followed, until the scene resembled nothing more than a light show racing down the streets.

"Lord save us," says Friar Reilly, "it looks like they've called in everybody!"

The Batman turned a sharp corner, disappearing down a black alleyway. All the cop cars park at the entrance of the alley, making any hope of escape impossible.

"Aha, he's trapped!" crows Jan triumphantly. A cheer went up around the lounge as staffers turned to high five and hug each other.

"Wait, look!" shouts Evie. A massive dark shape was… flying? With a tremendous roar an aircraft simply flew up out of the darkness of the alleyway, leaving behind the entire stunned GCPD. Even Steve and Monica are absolutely speechless.

* * *

Evie doesn't really expect Blake to come home that night, especially after the evening's huge debacle. He's been spending an increasing amount of time down at the station, poring over stacks and stacks of paperwork, evidence, criminal profiles. But come home he does, and for the first time in a long while he is electrified rather than exhausted.

"Evie!" he shouts, catching her in his arms and swinging her around. The living room is so small that her feet nearly knock over the lamp, so he soon stops, but his eyes are bright and almost childishly happy. "He's back, Batman is back!"

"I know, I saw on TV." She takes his face in her hands and stands on tip toe to kiss him. _If this is what it takes to make him so happy, then I'm glad he's back,_ she thinks to herself.

Blake presses his forehead to hers, sobering a bit. "This is good news. But it means that the situation is much more serious than anything thought. We've got dead orphams, Commissioner Gordon's masked man Bane in the sewers, this takeover of the stock exchange, Batman's return, and a shitload of construction work ordered by John Dagget, board member of Wayne Enterprises."

Evie's eyebrows come together in a frown. "What does that have to do with any of this?"

"Bruce Wayne, of Wayne Enterprises, is the Batman." Blake sits down on the couch, rubbing his neck. "I wasn't sure before, I mean I always suspected, ever since I was a kid at St. Swithin's… but I was never positive, not until I spoke to him a few days ago. And tonight confirms everything."

"_Bruce Wayne?_" Evie seats herself on the floor in front of him, her hands resting on his knees. "Billionaire-playboy-philanthropist?"

"He hasn't been any of those things in a while. But at least tonight he was the Batman again."

Evie loks at him, his face so light and open and happier than she's seen in a long while. He's 28 now, with the sort of face that could easily pass for either younger or older. His forehead is already showing faint lines, but she has no doubt that he'll look handsome even when he's older. _He will be beautiful in his 40's,_ she thinks. _If he makes it to 40…_

"John," she says tentatively. "I know you feel compelled to keep fighting. I have so much respect and admiration for you, and so do the kids. But… I worry about you. You're not sleeping enough. You work too hard. You give this job everything and now that all this is happening, I just don't know- I'm afraid…"

"Evie. Evie." Blake places his hands on either side of her face. "Listen to me, Evie. I have to do this. I have to be here."

She shakes her head. "There are thousands of other cops in this city. You're young and smart and dedicated, you could do anything, John."

"Maybe I could, but this is where I want to be, what I want to do."

"With Batman back, you don't have to do _anything_."

He gets up from the couch, pushing her aside. "Jesus, Evie, what do you want me to do, huh? Just, what, _walk away_? I'm a cop, Evie, this is what I do, this is who I am."

She hasn't moved from the floor. She's hurt that he just shoved her away like that, but she tries not to show it. It's hard to keep back the tears, though. "I'm just scared for you, John," she says, close to a whisper.

He's standing with his hands on his hips now. "Why did you move to Gotham?" he asks.

"What?" she wipes a tear before it reaches her chin…"

"Why did you move here?"

"Because… because I wanted to change my life, try to do things on my own, away from my family and friends."

"Well, I never even got that chance, ok? I only have myself, and this is the only thing I have left. I don't know how to do anything else."

"John," Evie says, trying so hard to keep her voice steady. "I'm trying to tell you that you're not alone anymore. I care about you, a lot. And I want to be with you, for as long as that's possible. That doesn't include seeing you in car chases with armed terrorists all around Gotham, or consorting with probably delusional masked vigilantes. I want to send you off to work with a kiss every morning, knowing for sure you'll come back to me safe and whole every night."

Some of the fire goes out of him, his shoulders dropping slightly. "I want that too, Evie, but that'll never happen." Blake rubs his face, ears, and neck. "You know what, let's just—let's just go to bed, ok? I'm beat."

He helps her to her feet, and they shower together. He's as tender as ever, but his mind is clearly not present. And later he initiates sex in bed, but even as the feel of his warm, wonderful cock pushes through her, Evie can't shake an image from her mind: Bane the faceless terrorist in his red motorcycle helmet, breaking Blake in two with his massive bare hands.

The visual is so shocking and visceral that for the first time she doesn't come. Blake pulls out after shooting into her. He hovers awkwardly for a bit, wondering if he should say or do anything, but then gives an almost inaudible sigh, rolls over, and lies still. They don't touch at all for the rest of the night, each staying on their own side of the bed.

* * *

The next morning he's gone by the time Evie wakes up, leaving a pitted feeling in her stomach. If he didn't have a night shift, they usually wake up at the same time, taking turns showering and cooking breakfast before heading out the door together.

Instead she goes through all the morning motions by herself. Even her singular coffee, toast, and egg look lonely by itself on the table. Because Blake normally drops her off at St. Swithin's before heading down to MCU, she has no choice this morning but to take the metro. It's not a big deal, but it is much slower and markedly less fun than riding in the squad car with him.

So she grabs her metro card, and then she's zooming through Gotham, passing Wayne Tower. It reminds her of what Blake said last night. Could the famed and now-reclusive Bruce Wayne really be the Batman? Suddenly she realizes what a huge move it was for Blake to confide this secret to her. She's glad they have this trust between them, but it doesn't dull the pain of the conversation from last night. The ache in her heart remains.

Just as she's walking up the street to St. Swithin's her cell phone rings, and she knows it's Blake before she even sees the caller ID.

"Evie," he says, his voice slightly husky. "Look, I want to apologize for last night. I… reacted badly. I'm sorry. I know you only want me to abandon this path I'm on because you care."

"I do, John. And I'm sorry too, for being pushy about it."

"No, you're right. If I were any one else, I would do as you say. And I hear what you're saying, it's the smart thing to do. But— I still can't let it go, especially not now."

"John…"

"I just visited Gordon in the hospital this morning. John Daggett's been murdered. And there's more…"

"What?"

"He made me a detective."

Evie feels the air going out of her body in a faint whoosh. Her legs almost buckle underneath her, and she reaches out a hand on the lightpost to steady herself. "That's—congratulations."

"I know this is probably not what you want to hear, but there's no way I can back out now. And it's still going to be ok, because I want to be with you, Evie. We're going to be alright."

And then the tears come so suddenly that she sobs right into the phone. "John, I can't." Somehow she knew, when she woke up this morning, that this would happen. "I can't, I can't, I can't."

"What do you mean? Evie, what are you talking about?"

"Oh, John…" She tries to control her breathing enough to talk coherently. "I just can't do this. How is it fair to me, if I have no idea what's going to happen, if there's every chance of you never coming back to me every time you go out the door?"

"Stop. What are you saying?"

"You've made your choice. You're going to do whatever it takes to get to the bottom of this, regardless of what I say or how I feel. And I'm _proud_ of you, I am, you're so brave and so selfless. You're the best person I know. But there's no room in that equation for me."

"I don't understand you."

"I can't support you in this. That's _my_ choice."

Blake is silent for several long seconds as she hiccups between small sobs. "Evie. Don't do this. You're the most important person to me."

"Maybe I am, but I'm not more important to you than Batman, and Bane, and Gordon, and saving Gotham. You don't need me in your life, John, and I don't think I want you in mine anymore. Not like this."

"Don't do this, Evie." He's using his stern police officer voice, but it's not going to work this time. "Evie! God damn it, don't do this!"

"I'm sorry, John." She shuts off her phone and cries silently on St. Swithin's steps.

* * *

**Author Notes:** Ahhh, please don't kill me! This is a long, very emotional chapter, and I played around with the scenario for a long time before deciding that this was the best way to do it. Things DO get better, I promise, so stick with me!

Also, BANE IS FINALLY COMING! He will be heavily featured in the next chapter. I apologize to everyone who's been so patiently waiting for him to appear. Hopefully I can nail his character and it'll be good.

**Replying to some reviews:**

- I strongly believe that there aren't enough Asians featured in American entertainment. I know that's a problem for all minorities, but the ratio for the Asian population in real life versus those shown in film or on television is hugely disproportionate. Also, I really do see John Blake with an Asian woman.

- I should've been more clear in the description, but this is definitely BlakexEvie and EviexBane, not BlakexEviexBane. I definitely see the appeal of a threesome (I mean, who wouldn't want to have a BB sandwich?), but honestly I just couldn't think of a way for that to realistically pop up within canon. Like, I know Tom Hardy and JGL are amazing together, but within Nolanverse they've never even had a scene together. As much as that is my fantasy, it just doesn't make sense.

Maybe I could write a bonus threesome chapter though, just for fun, eh? ;)

As always, reviews are immensely appreciated! Knowing that my work is being enjoyed is what makes everything worth it in the end. Cheers and thank you!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Batman.**

* * *

Blake is at a stakeout in the lower east side, following a lead from the case of Congressman Gilly's kidnapping. Normally he would have balked at the idea of doing such menial police work, but he reminds himself that the perpetrators were in some way connected to Bane and his base in the sewers. He's been parked outside the apartment building of Selina Kyle since 4 AM, and though he keeps trying, it's getting harder and harder to keep his mind on the boring task at hand.

Kyle has not been seen all day.

He checks his phone, again. It tells him that he has no new calls or texts, the same as the last ten times he's checked. But it does let him know that in the week that's passed since Evie left him, he's called her exactly 76 times.

She's become a ghost, impossible to find. Whenever he can, Blake drops by St. Swithin's at odd hours in the hopes of catching her there, but she never is. That, or the staffers icily turn him away. Apparently _everyone_ has been informed of their break-up, and are respecting her decision not to let him see her.

Blake knows that she's good at making friends, but he never knew she commanded that level of camaraderie and obedience from her coworkers. She is, after all, still fairly new to the orphanage. Maybe this is just one more way that she's right— maybe she _doesn't_ have a place in his life. If he didn't even know about her other friends, if he'd never thought to ask her who else she spent her time with… And she must have other people helping her, because two days after the breakup he came home to find all her stuff was gone from his apartment. There's no way she could have moved it all by herself.

He doesn't like that word, though: _breakup._ They never even called each other "boyfriend" and "girlfriend". But he does feel broken. "There's a reason it's called a 'crush', young Blake," he remembers Friar Reilly telling him. It was ages ago, just after he got dumped by his first real girlfriend at the age of 17.

And that's exactly what he feels like now, crushed and broken.

But mostly angry.

Anger has always been his weapon. Unlike most people, Blake gets calmer when he's angry, more focused. It is his close friend, his best mentor. It helps him on the job, because he can fight the anger of others with his own. He always wins.

But this thing with Evie is different. She's not angry, she's sad, and Blake doesn't know what to do with that. His anger is invalid, for once helpless and directionless. He's not mad at her, but he needs to be mad at _something_, because otherwise how can he fix this?

He realizes that even after half a year, this woman is still a mystery to him.

Blake tries to push all these thoughts from his head, however, when at long last he spots Kyle emerge from her building. She's wearing a smart black suit and is rolling a carry-on bag behind her. He calls it on his police radio just as she flags down a cab.

If he's lucky, she'll take him straight to Bane. If he's not, she's trying to flee.

* * *

On par with Blake's worries regarding Evie are those regarding the Batman. After his explosive and extremely high-profile return, there has been no sign of him anywhere, not even a whisper. This is contrary to his active duty days, when he would appear nightly in some part of town or another. After seemingly announcing his comeback to the whole world, he has mysterious disappeared again.

This is what's on his mind as he seats himself in front of Selina Kyle in an airport conference room. She was silly to think she could just waltz out of the city like that, from the international airport no less, but it's all to his advantage.

Kyle is strangely beautiful, and it's difficult to point your finger on _why_. Her features are far too large on an otherwise normal face. She's tall, though, with a fantastic waist-to-hip ratio. Everything about her is dramatic, sharp and angular, from her figure to her clothes, her attitude and her speech.

_A seductress_, he thinks. _A femme fatale._

Selina Kyle's nothing like Evie, who isn't quite beautiful, but possesses her own brand of workable sex appeal. Evie doesn't always turn heads on the street, but Blake's noticed that once men really see her, they are quick to pay attention. She has a more traditional look, a modest sort of allure with her soft doe eyes, slim figure and long wavy black hair, as opposed to Kyle's more obvious display.

Blake knows without a doubt which one he prefers, though at present neither woman seems willing to talk to him.

Though at least Kyle doesn't really have a choice. She's going to Blackgate Prison anyways, so she has no reason to lie about Batman and Bane, two men way above her scope of abilities. A cat doesn't run if it's already cornered.

"Is he alive?" he asks.

Her huge dark eyes peg his. "I'm not sure," she answers, her voice tight.

* * *

Killing a man is a strange thing, and the only other two times it's happened to Blake on the job, he became very quiet and withdrawn for a few days. Around the station and amongst members of the force, it's understood that killing is a morally indefensible act but also an absolute necessity in the maintenance of civilized order.

Granted, it's a rare thing to even have to shoot a gun since the days before Harvey Dent's cleanup of Gotham. There's supposed to be paperwork filed, shrinks to see, a few days off to think about it. But that almost never happens anymore. Success breeds complacency.

_And complacency kills_.

This is what Blake thinks as he races to Gotham General Hospital, the two dead "construction workers" he killed in the back of his mind, jumbled wildly with bits and pieces of other important information: extremely explosive devices planted all over the city, GCPD's entire force trapped below ground, Bane arming a nuclear device and killing the only known scientist who could disarm it…

And Gordon.

He's not even sure where or how he got the shotgun; he only noticed he even had it in his hands as he bounds into the hospital lobby, where frightened nurses point him upstairs.

Blake's a cop, through and through. He never paid too much attention in school, but he graduated top of his class at the police academy. No one's ever accused him of not caring, of not working hard enough. But the truth is that he grew into the job during peacetime, not wartime, and though he makes the round in the hospital boldly with shotgun in his hands, inside he is terrified for his life and for Gordon's.

He kicks down the door to Gordon's room. Immediately he registers two dead bodies on the floor, and for a second thinks, _Jesus, no…_

The cold point of a gun barrel presses into the back of his neck. His breath stops.

Then he hears the familiar old growl, "Clear the corners, rookie. Get my coat, son."

His heart starts again.

* * *

Blake takes Gordon back to his own apartment, because honestly, where else could they go? As soon as those dead men in the hospital room are found, there will be people staked at Gordon's place. But no one except Gordon and Foley know that Blake isn't with the rest of the entire police force, trapped beneath Gotham.

He resolves to keep a close eye on Gordon, especially after his talk in the car of getting in front of a camera. There's no way the older man could survive that, he would be gunned down in seconds. And Blake vows not to let that happen. With Batman missing and quite possibly dead, Gordon is the best hope Gotham has against Bane.

Bane, whose plan came to fruition today. It was only while listening to all the news in the car that Blake realizes the full extent of that plan. He heard bits and pieces through his police radio as he flew around the city that day, but didn't have time to process it all until now. Things look impossibly grim.

_We are all alone now._

It's fully dark by the time they reach the apartment; the streets are empty, and everything is hushed. They quickly dart inside.

Gordon doesn't have anything, not even proper clothes other than his coat, so Blake lends him a shirt and some pants. "You take the bed tonight, Commissioner. You need to rest," he tells him.

Gordon blinks at him. "What about your girlfriend? Doesn't she live here with you?"

"Oh, um, don't worry about her."

The older man just looks at him with somber knowing. Blake remembers that his own wife left him, taking the kids with her. If there was only one other man capable of sympathizing, who was hurting more than him, it would be Gordon.

"She uh, she dumped me. Because she was worried. And I wouldn't quit the force." The words almost don't make it out of his throat, but it feels right to say them to someone.

Gordon nods wordlessly and places a firm hand on his shoulder. He understands exactly.

* * *

The next morning Blake is packing a bag full of supplies as Gordon eats stale cereal on the couch. Their plan for the day is to go around and see just how badly Bane has damaged Gotham, physically and emotionally. It's Day 1, reconnaissance time.

GCTV is on, and it's clear that Bane is wasting no time in his continued takeover of the city. As Blake checks the rounds in his small collection of firearms, reporters are fighting for a spot in front of Blackgate Prison. Bane is making his second speech now.

_It's no wonder Kyle says Batman is likely dead_, Blake thinks, his eyes on the screen.

Standing on top of an armored tank that looks suspiciously like the Batmobile, Bane wearing a shearling coat looks absolutely massive. This is the first time Blake has seen him before, and he's surprised that what everyone refers to as a mask doesn't actually cover his whole face, just his mouth. Thick black straps keep it securely on his head.

But what Bane says is far more shocking than his appearance. "You have been supplied with a false idol to stop you from tearing down this corrupt city. Let me tell you the truth about Harvey Dent, from the words of Gotham's police commissioner, James Gordon." He takes out a sheaf of folded papers from his coat and proceeds to read them.

Blake sets down his shotgun, turns to face the television, listening. On the couch, Gordon is sitting stock still.

Blake knew, he _knew_, that there was something wrong with the Dent story. But he never suspected this. Dent, the shining white knight of Gotham, turned murderer? Batman, unjustly persecuted for imagined crimes? _Gordon_, implicit in this coverup from top to bottom?

"One day I hope you have a friend like I did, to plunge his hands into the filth so that you could keep yours clean!" Gordon spits defensively.

"Your hands look plenty filthy to me, Commissioner."

Blake turns his back to his friend, his boss, his mentor. He needs a moment alone. Everything in his life is happening so fast now, hurtling towards a point he can't see. His mind is working overtime, processing bits and pieces as they come but it's not enough to be able to see the big picture.

He goes into his bedroom. It looks empty, sterile. It must've looked this way before Evie left, since she only took her things, but the truth is he can no longer remember what that was like anyways. He sits on the bed, rubbing his face the way he always does when he's tired.

He stays for there a long time, maybe an hour, maybe two. He doesn't check the time, and Gordon doesn't come looking for him.

Then his phone rings, snapping him out of his reverie. The caller ID tells him it's Friar Reilly. "This is Blake," he says, answering.

"Blake, thank the Lord. You gotta come, you gotta come right now, it's— it's Evie."

Blake shoots up to his feet. "What happened?"

"They took her. They just came, a-a-and they took her. You gotta come, Blake, I don't know what to do, everyone is panicking, and I—"

"Who? _Who took her?_" Even though he asks, he already knows.

"These— these men. Bane's men."

With an anguished yell Blake hurls his phone with all his strength, smashing the bedroom window. An anger so deep washes over him that he doesn't even hear Gordon running in, calling his name. Everything is red, and nothing is okay.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Alright, I know I promised Bane in this chapter, and I honestly tried so hard to work him in, but as with all things, writing doesn't always happen the way that you want. All these characters have a mind of their own it seems, and it just didn't work out.

To compensate, I have already started working on the next chapter, and Bane will be there FOR SURE, since it's an Evie POV, and now she's in his camp. So once again, I sincerely apologize for making you guys wait forever! I love Bane too, and I'm trying very very hard to make this a good story, not just a story in which random things happen just so I can write my favorite characters. Please forgive me and keep going?

(I guess my only consolation is that those of you who are still reading, despite Bane's prolonged absence, are doing it because you really love the story itself, and for that I thank you from the bottom of my heart.)

I think this chapter definitely represents Blake's darkest moment. At this point, he truly has nothing. Bane has taken over his city, Batman may be dead, his mentor and role model Gordon has betrayed his trust, and now Evie has been kidnapped by the enemy.

I think I should give fair warning that things get quite dark from here on out. Bad things are going to happen to good people. Be prepared, the M rating really kicks in now!


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Batman.**

**So I know a lot of people were disappointed when I promised Bane in the last chapter, and he didn't show. Decided to make it up to you guys by working extra on updating this chapter quickly, and yes, BANE IS FINALLY HERE! **

**Be warned: from now on, things get dark. I want to remind you guys that this is rated M for sex, language, and violence. **

* * *

Evie had been in the lounge with the other staff members of St. Swithin's, discussing in hushed and panicked tones what to do after Bane's literally explosive introduction yesterday. They had stayed up most of the night, and had yet to reach a consensus. Many left, never to return. Evie could not blame them. If she had family in Gotham, that's where she'd be right now.

Of course she thinks of Blake too, Blake who is trapped underneath Gotham. She could not have picked a better (or worse) time to break up with him. At this point it's useless to dwell on it, but still she hopes, prays, that he's alive.

The more immediate problem is what to do with the kids. They have no other home, no other family or friends. St. Swithin's is their only guardian. Now that they are operating with only a skeleton staff, there's no telling how this new Gotham will treat the orphans, much less the adults themselves. Now that they were completely and totally cut off from the outside world, there seemed no way any of them could last long.

Thus, a lot of discussion, most of which went nowhere.

It was about three hours after Bane's stunt at Blackgate prison when they came. Evie could hear them, rumbling down the street in a tank, followed by a mob of angry Gothamites, breaking into every shop, looting and sacking as they went. Utterly defenseless, the orphanage could do nothing as Bane's men, dressed in scrappy uniforms reinforced with bullet-proof vests and armed with machine guns, blasted their way in.

Her first instinct was to hide, but that was useless; everyone was quickly rounded up. Her second instinct was to reach for her homemade mace, but that too was useless. It was in her little attic room upstairs, where Friar Reilly had let her move in after she broke up with Blake.

"Get out, get out! All of you, _now_!" yelled the lieutenant, a huge blonde-haired man.

Along with the children and the other staff members, Evie was herded outside onto the street. Though she was scared, she tried to keep her head, taking note that there were five men, including their lieutenant, who now addressed them with gun in hand.

"It is a good day for the orphans of Gotham!" the blonde man bellowed. "Our leader Bane has a soft spot for children, especially those who have lost their families. You have a new family now. Come with us, and we will show you how to be strong. You will never be bullied again, never know fear, and never be alone after this day!"

No one moved.

"Come, come. Every one of us were where you are now, and look at us now! We are on top of the world, boys. Join us here, and look down on everyone who once treated you badly!"

A few of the older boys stood up, walked towards him.

"That's right! No tricks, no lies, no pity. Just power, a new family, a new life," crowed the lieutenant.

A couple more joined him, and then more. Even the younger boys started getting up. To her side, Evie felt Mark start to move. Her hand flashed out and grabbed his sleeve, yanking him back down. "Have you forgotten what happened to your brother Jimmy?" she hissed at him. He stared back at her with wide eyes, but he did not budge.

Evie closed her eyes, steeled herself for a moment. She knew she didn't have much time, they were already gathering to leave.

"You're the best person I know," she'd said to Blake when she left him. He might be dead now, but every word was true. Blake was brave, and good, and he would do what was right.

_What would John do?_

She rose to her feet. "Take me instead," she called out.

The lieutenant and his men turned to stare at her. "You? What would I do with a kitchen slut?" he sneered.

_Kitchen slut?_ Evie looked down at herself. Sure, she wasn't wearing her nice work clothes (after she moved into the attic of St. Swithin's, it just didn't seem to matter anymore), but really? She had on a silky sleeveless navy blouse and cuffed grey shorts, hardly washerwoman material.

Swallowing her indignation and her fear she said, "I'm no kitchen maid. I can cook and clean and sew. That's a lot more than those boys can do for you. Not one of them is older than fifteen."

"Heh, what do you know about what we need these boys to do?"

"I know that whatever it is, it's probably not more important than having a good hot meal. I know your clothing is worn and tattered. You have plenty of men, but no one to do women's work."

Some of the men perked up at the mention of a hot meal, but Evie paid them no mind. It was the lieutenant who would make the decision. She kept her eyes on him.

He spat at the ground and raised his gun. "What makes you think I'll trade you for them when I could have both of you? Grab her! And that blonde one over there too. She's right, we could use some more women around."

The man nearest her lurched over and, with an iron grip, led her forwards by the forearm. Jan Summers was also being taken. Behind her, Evie could hear Friar Reilly's groan of despair. She looked back at him even as she was being led away, tried desperately to speak, but though her lips flapped open and closed no words came.

_I'm sorry, I tried…_

* * *

This is how she and Jan are taken to City Hall, apparently the new base of operations for Bane's men. They're led to the upper floors, not the grand main hall. There are soldiers _everywhere_, it is impossible to guess how many, and even more are still out roving around the city, Evie suspects. The lieutenant dismisses the other four men, who march away with their new young recruits, and then shoves both the women into an empty office.

"Now then," he says, turning to Jan with a dark smile, "you haven't told me what you can do yet."

Jan shoots Evie a quick, terrified look. "I, uh, I can also cook and sew, and—"

"Can you fuck?" he interrupts.

Jan blanches. "What?"

He grabs her and slams her facedown on the desk. Jan screams and struggles as he holds her in place with one hand and yanks her skirt down with the other.

Evie looks away. Her hands tremble uncontrollably in her lap. She wills herself not to listen, but it's impossible to shut out the noise: he grunting and chuckling darkly, Jan sobbing, yelling "No! No, stop, please, no!"

It's over in less than a minute, but feels much, much longer. When it's done, he shoves her onto the floor, where she lays whimpering and sobbing quietly. Then he turns to Evie and says, "Now it's your turn, babycakes."

"I think not, Janus," comes a quiet voice from the door. It's a tall black-haired man, who Evie recognizes from the news. He's Bane's second-in-command, always by his side. His voice is soft, accented, but no less terrifying. "This one is mine."

"Of course, Captain Barsad," says the lieutenant with a grin. He zips up his pants and moves aside. "She's a bold one, that chink. May she be as tight for you as mine was for me!"

It's much harder to be brave in this small room with two men and their guns, Evie discovers as he places a hand on her shoulder and guides her to the desk. He doesn't have to push or shove; Evie goes without resistance.

Petrified, she bends over the desk like a puppet when his hand presses against her back. Her hands, which trembled earlier, are now rock steady as they grip the edge of the desk. Her body has already accepted what is to come, even if her mind has not yet processed it.

Barsad reaches underneath for her breasts, which he palms through her shirt and bra. Panic starts to set in, fast and sharp, and she breathes in and out heavily. "Stop," she whispers. He ignores her, and brings his other hand up to stroke her buttocks. "Stop!" she says louder, bucking her hips against him, struggling for the first time.

Quicker than she could have believed, he yanks her up by the hair and backhands her with such force that Evie slams down hard back onto the desk. Head ringing, she struggles to hold on, willing herself not to slide onto the floor. The pain sets in two seconds later, and in the corner of her eye she sees the captain reaching for her again.

"Barsad!" The voice is like a boom of thunder.

_I know that voice_, Evie thinks through the haze, gritting her teeth. _Bane…_

He is just as big in person as he looks on television, seemingly taking up all the available space in the room. Everything about him, from the bald head to the huge shearling jacket and dark pants with kneepads, is absolutely menacing. Janus and Barsad immediately straighten up, and even Jan stops sobbing to give a strangled cry.

"Do you know who that is?" he asks, all politeness, his cultured voice at complete odds with his physical appearance. Through the mask every word is amplified, deep and sonorous.

Janus clears his throat. "Just some girl from St. Swithin's, boss. She offered to come."

"Did she now?"

"Well, she said she would come if we didn't take the kids."

"But you took them anyways, didn't you?" Each question is light in tone, almost jovial.

"Yes, boss. Because you said to."

"I never said anything about women." He switches his gaze to his captain. "This is Dr. Evelyn Chen, one of Gotham's premier child psychologists. That she has chosen to work in an orphanage rather than pander to the spoiled offspring of the moneyed elite means she deserves better treatment from our hands."

Barsad stands ramrod straight, hands behind his back, his gaze and voice unapologetic. "I was not aware of who she is."

Bane is now looking at her. "If you would follow me, Dr. Chen." He turns and walks out.

Evie rises shakily to her feet, tailing him out of the room. She avoids looking at Barsad, Janus, and even Jan, who has collapsed into a sobbing heap once more. Bane leads her down a hallway, up a flight of stairs, and down another hall. Everywhere they go, there are men, and they stare. No one asks questions or gets in the way, though plenty greet him with a nod or say, "Boss," as he passes. He doesn't look back at her even once.

At the end of the hall they reach a large double paneled door. He yanks both doors open and enters. As Evie follows, she looks up. A gold plated sign over the door reads, "OFFICE OF THE MAYOR."

She expects the inside to be lavish and old-fashioned, but it isn't, really. The room is paneled in oak, but the rich red drapes have been pulled down so that they lie in heaps under the now-bare windows, and most of the furniture has been removed or shoved unceremoniously into a corner. What remains is a large mattress on the floor, and a huge desk and workstation to the side, looking out of place from the rest of the room with its black chrome finishing and large glossy computer screens. The rest is open space.

Bane crosses the room to the workstation, and only then does Evie see that beside it is a small black mini-fridge. He opens it, takes out an ice-pack, and tosses it at her in a high, easy arc. She fumbles and drops it anyways; humiliated and red in the face, she stoops to pick it up as Bane watches.

The ice is welcome relief for her swelling face, but it does not make her feel any easier about the situation. Evie stands still, gingerly pressing the ice pack to her right cheek, feeling like a deer caught in an open field, surrounded by a pack of wolves and being eyed in particular by the alpha.

"Don't be afraid. Now is not the time for fear," Bane declares, facing her and leaning back against the table.

"Why should I not be afraid?" With her swollen cheek it's a little harder to talk, and it hurts, but Evie feels it must be asked.

"Because my men will not hurt you anymore."

"Will you?" She lifts her head to look at him straight.

Bane crosses his massive arms and studies her. Evie drops her eyes to stare at the details of his vest instead, not daring to meet his eyes for long. "You may be here by accident, and you may curse today for the rest of your life, but it is a fortunate turn of events for me," he says finally.

"How so?"

He taps the side of his mask with a thick finger. "I require a very specific, complicated formula of analgesics and anticonvulsants to maintain correct physical function. I need to improvise a new prescription with whatever materials are available in Gotham, to last at least several months. This is a task I could do myself, but it requires a lot of time and I cannot devote myself to this while keeping the city in check. The work will go faster with two."

"Why me?" So many questions to ask, though she only dares one at a time.

"I don't trust any of my men to do this. They are expertly trained soldiers, but not a doctor among them. You are a clinical psychologist."

"I also despise what you're doing." The words escape her before she can stop them.

To her utter surprise, Bane breaks out in a deep chuckle. "Do you fear for your life, Dr. Chen, and for your friend back there, and for those boys my men picked up today?"

"Yes. I do."

"Then do not fail me in this. If I even suspect that you are deliberately tampering with my medication, I will kill every last one of them in front of you. And then I will break you, piece by piece." Though he keeps his tone conversational, there is no mistaking the serious intent behind his words.

Evie gulps hard, and she feels her famously dry armpits growing moist with nerves. "But I know nothing about pharmaceuticals, I just prescribe the drugs when necessary. What if I kill you by accident?"

This prompts another laugh. "You won't kill me. Whatever you make may cause me a good deal of pain at most, but it won't kill me."

* * *

The mayor's office is actually a suite of connected rooms, complete with a full bathroom, a large walk-in closet, and a parlor in addition to the main office, where Bane sleeps and works. Evie is given the parlor. Having her own room is far beyond her expectations, even if it is only a door away from him. Unlike the office room, the parlor is untouched. There are two silk upholstered sofas, end tables, lamps, light blue drapes, even a small chandelier.

"Can my friend stay here with me?" she asks.

"No."

Anger rises in her, though her fear tries to push it down. "You told your men that I deserved better treatment. Jan works at St. Swithin's with me, but she didn't volunteer like I did, she was taken by force. She deserves better too."

"You are useful, whereas she is not."

"But she is! She can help us. Or she can cook, or clean, or whatever needs to be done around here, she would be wasted as— as mere _amusement_ for them."

"She can do all of those things and still amuse my men."

Evie resists the urge to throw the ice pack at his face. "I thought this was the liberation of Gotham, not a war where rape is openly practiced and condoned."

Bane gives her a look that is almost pitying. "What do you think liberates cities, if not wars? Did you really think you could make a deal with a bunch of bright young children, future soldiers, in exchange for a homecooked meal? You are not so naïve as that, Dr. Chen. You knew exactly what would happen when you gave yourself up."

Evie says nothing. In the back of her mind, she had known, but there had been no time to think, to weigh the consequences. In that moment it had been her, or the kids.

"This is the harsh truth of life," he continues. "Do not fight it so hard, or I will find a more compliant doctor to assist me and you can join your friend downstairs. It would be a terrible waste, but so is the time we've spent discussing this."

Sensing that it would be dangerous folly to push her luck, Evie asks instead, "When do I start working?"

"You will stay here until I return tonight with the necessary materials. There is some food in the refrigerator. Eat, or sleep, or use the washroom as you wish. But if you try to leave, or if you touch anything on my work station, I will know."

Then Bane turns, and leaves her. She watches him walking out, noticing that he moves with surprising grace for such a huge man. Instead of lumbering, each foot is placed smoothly in front with deliberation. Evie can't say the same for herself. Though she's calmer now, she's still in a state of slight shock and her nerves keep her from moving steadily.

In the bathroom mirror, Evie assesses her face. Barsad's backhand caught her right on the cheekbone, which is bright red and continuing to swell. No one has ever hit her before, but she knows that by tomorrow it will be yellowish green.

Taking a nap sounds absurd, and with her stomach in knots eating is out of the question. Instead, she lies down on the sofa and thinks of Blake.

Blake, with his kind eyes and tender grin.

_What would John do?_

He would try to escape, Evie knows. It is not even a question. He would fight, and he would find a way to get Jan and the kids out too.

But even as she contemplates this, she knows that it would be impossible for her. Evie is, in every way, outmatched and outnumbered. She does not doubt for a second that Bane would kill her.

_He said I was useful, not necessary._

By the time Bane returns to the mayor's suite that night, Evie knows what she has to do.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I mentioned a few chapters ago that I haven't been reading other Bane fics because I didn't want to be influenced by any other writer's version of him. To me, Bane is a charismatic enigma, a rough exterior with a dark heart. I am not going to write him as this angsty villain who suddenly falls in love with Evie and becomes a big softie, revealing his deepest secrets to her all at once.

Bane is more than that, and I intend to do him justice.

Right now I'm trying to decide if I should continue alternating between Blake's established movie plotline and Evie's arc, or continue with just Evie, since at this point it is the more mysterious and probably more exciting half. But I am very fond of writing Blake, and I love hashing out his inner thoughts during all his TDKR scenes!

Let me know what you guys want to see.

P.S.- Friar Reilly and Barsad are actual characters from the movie, you can see them on the full cast and credits page for TDKR on IMDB! I did a lot of digging to keep this fic as close to Nolanverse as possible.

P.S.S.- To reiterate, this is NOT a threesome fic. As much as I would like to read that too, this fic is too committed to film realism, and I just can't see it happening within the parameters of TDKR. To avoid further confusion I have changed the description. However, by popular demand I will be writing a bonus threesome chapter at the very end of this!

Anyways, hope everyone is enjoying this as much as I am, and as always thank you, thank you, thank you to all my readers/followers and especially my reviewers! Every single review I get is precious to me!


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Batman.**

**This chapter is going to break the alternating POV pattern by following Evie directly after the last installment. More Blake to come later.**

**Also, you guys asked for it so I'm giving it to you: sexy times with Bane ahead!**

* * *

When Bane returns to the mayor's suite later that night, he's not alone. He and ten other men push a massive grey steel container into the office. About ten feet long and six feet tall, they park it next to the workstation and plug its cords into power sockets. In large stern letters the side of the container reads, "STERISYN MAKOTO CORP". After the container is secure, the men are dismissed. They stare at her as they leave, but no one says anything.

"You took this from Sterisyn Makoto?" Evie had imagined that he would make a few pharmacy runs, not steal straight from one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the world. Then again, Bane has already proven himself as the type who plays the big game. Despite herself she is a little impressed, and more than a little worried.

Bane unlocks the side door and opens it to reveal an icy world inside, racks and racks of small glass vials kept cold. Evie understands now, it's a refrigerated transport container.

"Their warehouse has the biggest drug selection in Gotham, and therefore is the most likely to have what I need," he rumbles. "Inside this container there are a hundred different drugs, with ten samples of each."

Evie steps closer to the container, reading the labels on the tiny glass vials. Some of them are immediately familiar, drugs that she's prescribed to patients before. Others she only know in passing, and others still she has never heard of. A few don't even have proper names yet, only working codes, like "HL256-9".

"Before I can start working, I need to know your full medical history and your current medical state."

Bane strips off his heavy shearling jacket and tosses it onto his mattress. "I am six feet and five inches tall, weighing 275 pounds, and I need a strong pain suppressant. That is all you need to know."

"Without knowing the full extent of your injuries, finding a workable formula can take years. You don't have that kind of time," Evie says carefully. Pharmaceuticals is not her forte, but even she knows that drug testing, particularly blind drug testing, is a costly and intensely time-consuming enterprise.

Bane reaches into one of his pants pockets and withdraws a small item, which he places on the table. It's a thin glass tube of light green liquid. "This is my current serum. Since we are indeed pressed for time, you can start improvising off of it."

It's clear that he's unwilling to discuss exactly why he needs the mask, so Evie does as suggested. He pulls up a list of the serum's ingredients on a computer screen, and she is shocked to see that it is comprised of over three hundred separate ingredients, many of which are foreign to her. She spends the better part of the night just researching each component, studying its uses and effects. After three hours the most obvious point is the sheer potency of the serum; it is the most powerful analgesic compound Evie has ever known. Now that she has a more thorough understanding of the existing formula, she can start working on a replication tomorrow. But for now, she's too tired to go on.

Exhausted, Evie lays her head down over her arms and looks at Bane. While she worked, he had stepped out of the office several times to convene with his men in between sessions of intense study over maps of Gotham. He was surprisingly a very quiet and thoroughly non-distracting presence, though she was constantly aware of him at all times. It's hard not to be aware of a colossal terrorist working within a few feet of you.

His face in concentration is arresting, even though much of it is hidden behind the mask. As always, her eyes are drawn to it immediately. She wonders why he won't tell her exactly why he needs the medication.

_What are you hiding?_

Despite herself, Evie can feel her eyelids struggling to stay open. She doesn't want to fall asleep, not like this, not in front of Bane, but before she can summon the strength to get up the blackness washes over her in a smooth, gentle wave and she drifts off.

* * *

She dreams that Bane is suffocating her, pressing a large wet cloth, soaked in chloroform, to her mouth. She struggles against it, tries to slap it away, but he is relentless and so insistent, and then Evie jerks herself sharply to a sitting position, confused and dazed.

A few realizations hit her at once: she's on one of the parlor sofas, someone must have put her there last night, and there is a huge Rottweiler sitting in front of her, its big pink tongue sticking out. Evie touches her face and realizes she has dog saliva all over. The dog whines, and its stubby tail twitches frantically back and forth. His head, easily as big as Evie's own, is tipped comically to the side. She reaches out a hand to pet him gingerly, even as her heart sinks as she remembers everything that happened yesterday.

Rising slowly to her feet, she walks to the door between the parlor and the office, and then nearly wets herself with fright when she sees Barsad there, standing beside the table. The dog barks happily and bounds toward him. He looks up, sees her.

"I see you've met my dog," he says. "Sit, Valko." The dog sits obediently by his feet.

Evie says nothing, but grips the doorjamb tightly with her right hand.

"I brought you breakfast, courtesy of your blonde friend." Barsad gestures to the tray on the table. Evie glances at it. There's a bowl of oatmeal, a few slices of toast, and a mug of coffee.

"Where's Bane?" He's the most dangerous person she knows, but ironically she is safest in his presence. His whereabouts are of upmost importance to her.

"He's out on a patrol tour. I don't think he'll be back anytime soon. He told me to make sure you're fed."

Evie nervously looks down, intensely aware of how alone she is, how unkempt her hair and oily her face. He could do anything to her, and she would be powerless to stop it.

"You're very lucky, do you know that?" Barsad's voice is soft and silky, cushioned by that unplaceable accent. "To be under Bane's protection. A few minutes more yesterday, and I would have made you my own."

Instinctively, her hand comes up to touch the bruise on her cheek. The quiet and unemotional way he speaks is scaring her more than she wants to admit. She can still remember the feel of his hand, pushing her down onto the desk…

_What would John do?_

"I want to see Jan," she says abruptly, with false confidence, trying to mask her fear.

"Your friend? I'm afraid that won't be possible. She's rather… busy, at the moment." The slightest hint of a sneer pulls at the corner of his lip. "But if you eat your food, I will be sure to let her know that you enjoyed it."

"I want to see her," Evie repeats.

"You'll see the back of my hand again if you don't eat, _now_."

So she does. Though it's been almost a full day since she last had food, every swallow of oatmeal and bite of toast under Barsad's gaze makes her want to gag. He stands motionless over her as she finishes off the tray, Valko hovering beside her, begging for scraps. All Evie can think about is how Jan made this food for her, Jan, who would've been safe if she hadn't been so recklessly bold yesterday.

When the last drop of coffee is gone, Barsad picks up the tray and heads for the door. "Finally. I have other orders besides babysitting you, but Valko will stay to make sure you don't escape. Do not test him- he may act friendly now, but cross this threshold and you will feel his teeth."

Evie lets herself breathe again when she can no longer hear his footsteps down the hall. She looks at Valko, who is still sitting quietly next to her. "I'm not scared of you," she tells him. Valko whines and tilts his head.

The first order of the business is to use that bathroom. Evie is at first surprised to find that there is no shampoo or conditioner in the shower, but then she remembers that Bane has no hair, and therefore no need of either. A bit of snooping in the cabinets reveals a stock of surprisingly nice organic hair products, as well as some organic goat milk soap. She brings one of each into the shower with her.

The water feels wonderful. Evie appreciates that no matter how messed up Bane has made Gotham, at least he had the good sense to leave the water lines alone. Everything else is shockingly awful, but at least she can still have a hot shower.

When she gets out, she remembers that she has no other clothes. A quick rinse of her own clothing in the sink will just have to suffice. She hangs them up on the shower rod to dry.

Wrapping a towel around herself, she exits the bathroom and goes to check the mayor's closet. The inside is fully stocked with tailored suits and other wealthy recreational outfits: golfing clothes, yachting clothes, riding clothes, and racks of Italian leather shoes. Evie selects a white button-up shirt. It's long enough to be a dress on her, and none of the pants are even close to fitting, so she decides to forego wearing bottoms, even if it means going commando. It's not the most secure feeling in the world, but until her panties dry it's the only option.

She's rummaging around some drawers looking for a tie that she could use as a belt when she comes across a shocking cache of sex toys. There's handcuffs, riding crops, feather dusters, leather strips, blindfolds, several lube tubes, an assortment of vibrators, and a truly frightening gigantic spiked dildo.

Evie closes the drawer carefully. _Mayor Santoro certainly knew how to live it up…_

Valko is snoozing lightly by the door when she goes back into the office. There's nothing else to be done, so she opens the Sterisyn Makoto container and starts to familiarize herself with the samples. Out of the drugs she knows, Evie begins to select the most potent ones.

Using a lab kit that she finds on the upper shelf of the workstation, she begins formulating an improvised serum using ingredients comparable to those that Bane is currently medicating himself with. It's a complicated and delicate process, one which absorbs all her attention.

* * *

Evie works for seven straight hours, and just as she is decanting the last of three sample serums, the door to the office opens loudly. She jumps and spins around.

Barsad is back. She just barely suppresses a shudder.

"He'll be glad to see you've been busy," he says, taking in the vials on the table. Valko bounds over to his master, earning a pat on the head.

"Bane?"

"He's on his way up, and he's not happy." A grimace settles on his lips.

"Why?"

"Got a bit of bad news from someone he cares about."

"Wh—"

With a sickening boom, the door is slammed open so hard it bounces back off the wall. Bane storms in, his voice and face like dark rolling thunder. "Out!" he yells at Barsad, who immediately takes his leave, Valko on his heels.

Bane shrugs out of his shearling jacket and flings it on the table, almost knocking over some of the empty glass vials that she had put there earlier. All the control and poise he showed on camera in days previous and in person yesterday is gone. Evie looks down, and her hands are shaking again. This is definitely not the best time to speak up, she thinks. But this isn't just about her anymore, in fact it's never been just about her.

_Every minute I don't say something is more time for people I care about to get hurt._

"Um, I wonder if we could discuss something?" she begins baldly. There's really no other way to start this sort of conversation. She thinks of Blake, and the bravery he has to be on the job everyday, and the thought stiffens her resolve.

"What is it?" he snaps.

"I've worked hard to make a few possible serums for you, and I'll continue to help you in this for as long as you need. All I ask is that you allow Jan and the boys to go."

He raises a hand, curling the fingers into a massive fist. "I told you not to push this, Dr. Chen. Your usefulness does not mean you get to negotiate with me."

Evie swallows, hard. "You don't need them, you really don't. Please, take them out of harm's way, I'll make whatev—"

Bane moves, faster than she could ever have expected from such a large man. He grabs the front of her shirt and shoves her face first against the wall. Ignoring her cry, he pinions both her wrists above her head in a one-handed iron grip, one foot kicking her legs apart. Terror blooms in her chest, fast and hard. She tries to wriggle away, but his body is like solid brick, trapping her against the wall with the weight of his hips.

With his free hand, Bane yanks up the dress shirt, exposing her bare ass. "Remember when I told you yesterday that it was not the time for fear?" he growls into her ear. "Well, you should be afraid now, Dr. Chen."

Without warning, one of his giant fingers thrusts up hard into her. It isn't painful, but it's so sudden, so intrusive, that Evie can do nothing but gasp and shudder against it. He moves it up and down, in and out in quick, deliberate motions. Then he adds a second, stretching her, and then it becomes painful tight when he inserts a third. Without giving her time to adjust, Bane pinches and pulls roughly at her clit with his thumb and forefinger.

Evie screams and clamps down hard, bucking wildly against his erection, pressed between her ass cheeks. "Stop, oh stop," she pants. She is so sensitive that it hurts.

Bane groans to feel the increased resistance of her muscles, but otherwise ignores her, flicking the little nub while plunging in and out of her.

With growing horror Evie realizes that with each stroke of his thick fingers there is less pain, and she is growing slicker and slicker down there. "Oh no, I don't want it, I don't want it," she murmurs to herself even as the pleasure begins to mount, at first only a few bubbles but before long boiling hard and wild inside of her.

She tries to fight it, but his rough handling of her clit is too much. She crests a giant wave and then crashes down, down, down, whole body shuddering, knees giving way, a bright warmth exploding outwards from that one vulgar point where his fingers are still buried inside. With a wet squelch he removes them, and then all but throws her onto the mattress so that she lands on her back.

Still coming down from her high, Evie is totally helpless, boneless, as he kneels in front of her, unzips his pants, and pulls out a colossal manhood. Lining it up against her nether lips, he shoves the head through, pulling a long loud groan from her.

"Ahh, no, it's too big, it hurts…" Her head thrashes from side to side, eyes clenched.

"Your cunt was made for dropping brats, it can handle my cock," he rumbles, a sound that vibrates through her very bones.

Sopping wet though she is, it takes Bane a tremendous push, one which almost knocks her right off the mattress, to fit it in. Even so, she is too small for all of his length, and his girth is so wide, she lets out a scream. Her hands come up to beat against his stone-like chest, to no avail.

"That's right," he growls. "Fight me."

He moves within her, and allows for no adjustment period. The strokes come hard and fast and oh god, it hurts, but it's just on the other side of pleasure too, so close and so similar that the lines blur together in her head for just an instant before the scales tip toward pleasure.

And she's moving against him, trying to throw him off with her hips even as her muscles clench tightly around his girth, trying to keep him inside where it feels so good.

"I've taken everything from you. **Fight me, Evelyn**."

And though his hips piston unrelentingly against hers, though she realizes he's right, she is completely without the strength to oppose him. He's right- her city has fallen, she is utterly alone, and the full force of her helplessness hits her at once. Each unbreakable stroke of his cock against her solid but shattering body hammers this point across.

_How can I fight? What can I do against a force of nature?_

With a deep moan she gives herself up, surrenders, lets her head fall back, and when his hand comes up, the fingers still slick and shiny from her juice, she opens her mouth obediently and sucks on them.

His strokes are coming harder now, faster, but also more inconsistently. Within a few short intense pumps, Evie feels herself splintering into a thousand pieces, feeling at once nothing and everything. She bites down on his fingers, hard, earning a low groan that causes her whole body to tremble, before he too comes undone, filling her with a hot sticky flood.

When he pulls out, she can feel just how sore she is. With a low moan she clamps her legs shut as he sits back on his haunches, studying her calmly, his breathing level only slightly elevated.

Evie is still flat on her back, panting like a horse and trembling all over. How can he be so still, so unaffected?

"Well, that was unexpected," he says finally.

"No shit. When Barsad told me you were unhappy I didn't think he meant you were going to come in, knock me around, and screw my brains out." She's too tired and high off her orgasm to care about reigning in her mouth.

"I did not know either." His voice is tinged with amusement, all trace of earlier anger gone. "But I also did not know that you would provoke me so. Or I you, apparently."

Evie recalls her own wanton behavior, the struggle and then the surrender, and she covers her face in embarrassment. She's glad now that her dress shirt is still on, though it doesn't really matter. And she remembers that he still has on all his clothing too. "I can't believe we did that, oh fuck…"

"Indeed." He pulls his pants back up and zips them. "Did I hurt you?"

She takes stock of her body. There are bruises on her wrists and on her hips. And damned if she isn't going to be sore down there for at least a couple of days. "Yes, a bit."

"I'm not going to apologize, Evelyn. I can only hope that you understand my body was not built for giving pleasure, but for dishing out pain. "

"Actually I think I got a bit of both," she admits grudgingly.

Both his gaze and his voice are piercing. "I think I owe you a warning. I may be a monster, but my blood runs as red as any man's. I appreciate beauty and gratification. You have given me both tonight, and this will not be the last time either."

Evie shivers at those words. "Do I get a choice? Will you hurt me again?"

"No and yes, but I promise you will enjoy it every time. You have a great appetite for this."

A bone-deep weariness has settled over her. She yawns and stretches on the mattress, her eyes already drooping low. Post-coital conversation is all well and good, but a woman needs her beauty rest, especially when she's in a stressful kidnapped-by-terrorists situation.

"Are you able to make it back to the parlor on your own, Dr. Chen?"

Evie rolls over and flashes him a lazy smile over the shoulder. A good round of sex can work wonders. She's so relaxed, she doesn't want to move, even if it means sleeping next to him all night. Her fear of him has more or less evaporated.

Bane breathes a deep sigh that rattles slightly through the mask. He bends over and picks her up effortlessly, then carries her to the other room. As he lowers her onto the sofa, he chides dryly, "I hope you're not going to make a tradition of me having to take you to bed every night."

"I hope you do take me to bed every… night…" she retorts sleepily, already drifting off.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So... I'm not very experienced at writing sex scenes, but ultimately I am quite pleased with how this turned out. The weird thing is that it's not really what I imagined at all. I had kind of planned for it to be much scarier, much darker. I planned to make Evie a little mouse, scared and helpless throughout this whole ordeal. But it's true what they say- once you get a good character, they just take off with minds of their own. I guess she's stronger than I thought she was, because the words just flowed out of me and it felt right.

*Made a minor edit to this chapter after an excellent point by Ally, who thought I made Evie's transition from struggling to surrendering too abrupt. Hopefully this helps to explain her change of mind.

Similarly, I was worried that I wouldn't be able to write Bane faithfully enough. I don't want him to be this fluffy pushover. I don't think he's inherently cruel, but he's a man with an agenda and he'll use whatever means necessary to fulfill the task at hand. I hope I've portrayed him well.

Writing this chapter has totally veered me off path. I had this whole story pretty much planned out, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe I'll just play it by ear, see how you guys repsond.

By the way, "Valko" means "wolf" in Bulgarian.

**Replying to some reviews:**

Ally- honestly, I'm not even sure who I'm rooting for more, Bane or Blake! At this point it's a toss-up, and I'll have to see how things play out in later chapters. It's just as much a journey for me as for you guys! Love JGL too, have you seen production stills of him in "Don Jon's Addiction"? He BULKS UP. It is so weird to see him with muscle, but so hot too!

Beauty Queen- Thanks for your continued support and input! It's great to know someone is following along so faithfully.

C'estMoiLiz- Thank you for the critique! I do have a rather wordy style, I admit. I'm working on trimming it down in these later chapters though, to fit Evie's more black and white life in captivity. And I'm glad you're enjoying my interpretation of Blake, hope you are equally fond of my Bane as well.

OptimisticTheory- I love the way you described my work as "serious", "dark", and "passionate" because that's how I would describe it too!

mydaysrgreen and FutureErotic- Yes, I kept trying to work Bane in there earlier, because he's the second listed character and I know lots of people are rooting for him, but it just didn't work the way I wanted. In retrospect I'm glad I waited, it's just better now.

bookluvr888- I'm glad you're enjoying my Evie chapters! I love writing Blake and Bane, but Evie is my special baby.

Thank you as always to everyone else who read and reviewed as well!


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Batman.**

**For this chapter, I'm trying out something new in order to maintain narrative balance. The first half of it will be from Evie's POV, the second half from Blake's, but their story arcs are happening simultaneously.**

* * *

The next morning Bane is once again gone already by the time Evie wakes. Barsad comes in with a breakfast tray, but this time all that's on it is a piece of plain bread, a slice of cheese, and a cup of water.

"Your friend's gone," he says in response to her questioning look. "She's been let go because of your little whore tricks last night, so now there's no one to cook."

"What?" She can't believe her ears.

"That's right. The whole floor heard you, and the one below us too. You're quite the screamer, Doc."

Evie flushes crimson and unconsciously presses her thighs together, but Jan is more important than her own embarrassment. "Bane… let her go?"

"He made two of us take her back to the orphanage early this morning. Janus kicked up a fuss, but the boss made sure it happened."

"And the boys?" she asks hopefully.

"Heh. You think that hole between your legs is worth so much? Just because—"

A hushed roar of noise booms against the floor beneath them, causing Evie to take a startled step back. "What was that?" she asks in a whisper.

Barsad frowns and, with a quick spin around, jogs out. After a split second of indecision, Evie follows him. It's the first time in three days that she's left the office, but her curiosity is too strong. She's sore from last night, but almost manages to keep pace with Barsad as they descend four levels of stairs. Other men are going down too, but none spare her more than a glance or a smirk. They can hear voices now, lots of voices, shouting and yelling and still more crashing noises.

When they reach the second floor, Evie is shocked to see an entire mob of people funneling into the grand hall. She follows them. Inside, throngs of people stand on either side of the hall, yelling and calling out names. In the cleared middle space, an old man huddles on a chair. And at the far end of the hall, a massive mountain has been made of bookshelves, desks, and other miscellaneous furniture. It rises out of the floor, and sitting at the very top is a figure that takes her a few seconds to recognize.

Dr. Jonathan Crane, disgraced former mental health specialist of Arkham Asylum and once noted professor of psychology. Evie used to read his research on the development of childhood phobias when she was a med student. It came as a shock to the entire field when he was arrested and subsequently institutionalized for his crimes.

Crane bangs a gavel on the desk he's seated at, perched on top of his mountain. The crowd simmers down just enough to hear him across the hall. "Today, we begin to call to justice those members of Gotham who have hoarded all they have from the rest of us! Those who oppose the people's justice will also be tried. The guilty shall be given a choice: death… or exile."

A roar of approval swells up from the crowd, even as more people are jamming themselves inside by the second. Evie edges forward to get a closer look, but someone grabs her arm roughly. She whirls around.

It's Bane.

"What are you doing here?" he barks. The people around them instinctively shrink away.

"I- I was just curious about the noise," she squeaks.

He hauls her roughly out of the grand hall and all the way back up to the mayor's suite. "You do **not** leave this room, do you understand? Not until your task is complete."

Evie rubs her arm where his fingers gripped her. By tomorrow, it'll be another bruise. "I made a few mock up serums yesterday, did you see them?"

"I tried them all this morning. Only one is even passable, and just barely at that. You'll need to do better."

She scowls. "I told you I'm not a pharmacologist. Why don't you get Jonathan Crane to do this for you? Drugs are his specialty, mine is psychoanalysis. Just because we're both psychologists doesn't mean we do the same thing!"

"The Scarecrow? You think I should trust him to make that which is vital to my body? His mind is broken." He tilts his head forward and gives her a knowing look. "Besides, I fear his company would be significantly less… entertaining than yours."

The blush creeps back up. "Did you release Jan because of… of last night?"

"I let her go because she was becoming trouble, causing petty squabbles amongst my men. Now, no more of this. I have something for you." From the pocket of his shearling coat, he removes a peach, golden and rosy in the morning light.

Evie's mouth drops. She hasn't had fruit in days, and it's the first bit of food that actually looks appetizing to her since she was taken.

"Would you like it?" he asks politely.

"Yes, please." She steps forward, and he places the peach in her outstretched hand. With both hands, she brings it up to her mouth. The smell is delicious. She bites into the soft flesh, juice dripping everywhere. It is a good peach, perfectly ripe, sweeter than any she's ever eaten.

"Is it good?"

Evie nods, leans down to take another bite. She doesn't even see the steel blue tie he whips out until it's already around both her wrists. Startled, she drops the peach.

He yanks the tie, hard, so that she trips and falls to the floor with a cry. Bane drags her by the wrists until she's lying in front of the workstation, then bends down and knots the tie securely around the leg of the table. Placing a hand on either collar of her shirt, he pulls them apart, sending buttons flying. With her shirt open, all that's left is her bra, which he rips apart with his bare hands.

"That was my only bra," she says behind clenched teeth, torn between fear and excitement.

In response he twists her left nipple, wringing a loud gasp from her.

Then he gets up and walks away, and Evie watches him entering the enormous walk-in closet. Breathing hard, she tests the tie; the bonds are indeed secure. Bane returns quickly, holding, to her astonishment, a familiar looking blindfold and a leather riding crop.

_Mayor Santoro's stash…_ She swallows hard.

"This is your penalty for leaving the room," he rumbles, kneeling to tie the blindfold over her eyes. It is double layered black silk, and completely opaque. Blind and tethered, she trembles under him, twice as sensitive to every sound and every touch.

* * *

Blake is out scavenging for food and gas.

Gotham has transformed from being a well-maintained city with a bit of dirt on the edges into being a full-out center of riot. Usually docile and responsible citizens become mobs at the drop of a hat, and looting is rampant everywhere. Within 24 hours, most grocery stores have been cleared out.

Food is being shipped in daily as Bane's one concession to outside exposure, but there's never a guarantee that everyone will get some. Everyone is trying to horde as much as they can, settle in for the long run.

When both his hands are full and he's carrying as much as he can, he makes his way to St. Swithin's, careful to remain as quiet and non-assuming as possible. The gun at his side helps, but he makes sure to wear his civilian clothes and keep his badge tucked inside his jacket at all times.

"Oh Blake, thank the Lord you are here," Friar Reilly exclaims when he sees him. "Bane's men came again!"

"What?! Where from, when?" He drops the bags on the floor, one hand reaching instinctively for his Glock 17.

"Early this morning, two of them came and dropped Jan Summers, our art teacher, on the curb out front. She's badly hurt, Blake."

"Take me to her."

Summers has been put in one of the empty boys' bedrooms. Blake remembers her from his visits to St. Swithin's, pretty and flirtatious though she never paid him much attention. She doesn't look like that anymore; though it's only been a few days, this woman looks years older. Her right eye is a covered in a deep purple bruise, and her left cheek has an open cut. That long blonde hair is stringy, flat, and unwashed with a noticeable bald patch in the back. Her arms too bear multiple bruises, and her hands tremble on top of the bedsheet.

Blake kneels beside the bed. "Jan? My name is John, can I ask you some questions?"

She looks at him and bursts into tears.

Blake waits, feeling like a complete asshole for bothering her when she's in this state.

"I'm sorry, I-I know who you are. I know what you want to ask." She hiccups and wipes at her face with both hands, but there's no stopping the tears now. They leak out relentlessly.

"You do?"

"S-s-she talked about you a lot, showed me y-your picture."

"Do you know where she is? Is she hurt?"

Summers stares at the wall, her face inscrutable, her voice slightly steadier than before. "She's with B-Bane. I thought myself wretched, but then I heard from the men that Bane… _uses_ her himself. T-that's when I stopped complaining, fighting what was happening to me. I'm a lot b-b-better off than her, I think. I don't know anything else."

He forgets to breathe. Bane himself… it's worse than he could have imagined. He'd hoped that she'd be on kitchen duty, a little scarred and bruised and worse for wear, but not this. Never this.

"Where?" he manages to choke out.

"In the mayor's office. C-City Hall."

He places a hand on her knee, but she flinches away from his touch. "I'm sorry this happened to you. If I find a doctor, I will send him here. Thank you, Jan."

She just looks at him with deadened eyes.

* * *

When Blake arrives at City Hall, he is surprised to find the throng of people there. The front steps are packed with crowds, some mingling outside, others streaming in. He's trying to decide what to do when, out the corner of his eyes, he spots a familiar figure.

She's wearing different clothes, plain cotton instead of flashy silk, and her hair is down, but he'd recognize that face anywhere. Cutting through the crowd, he reaches out and grabs her arm. In a flash his hand is caught in a vice-like grip as Selina Kyle spins around and traps it between her arm and her torso.

"Augh, Jesus!" he yells loudly, but the crowd around them is so loud no one else hears.

"_Detective Blake?_" she says incredulously, letting him go.

"Yeah," he says, rubbing his hand. "God damn, do you do that to everyone?"

"Cats have claws, and I like to keep mine sharp," she replies, quick as a whip. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be, you know, trapped underground and starving?"

"I've got better things to do." Suddenly an idea springs to mind. "And I need your help."

She narrows her eyes at him. "With what?"

"Bane has someone I care about. I need to get into his office. Bane and his men know you, they trust you to a degree. And I know you can get in and out of any place you want."

"Even if breaking in there is a smart thing to do, which it isn't, what makes you think I'm going to help the man who put me in Blackgate?"

"When this is done, you can have anything that is within my power to give." Blake is desperate, and he knows it. He puts all his chips on the table.

"Ah, but you don't have anything I want, Detective, not a single thing."

"I…" His mind scrambles for an option, any option. "I'll destroy your police records down at the Major Crimes Unit. When all this is over, you'll have a clean slate in Gotham." The words leave a bad taste in his mouth, but so does the thought of Evie in Bane's clutches.

Her lips curl into a Cheshire cat smile. "When Bane's done with this place, there won't be a justice system to care about my record." She points up to the entrance of City Hall. "Do you know who is presiding over trials as the entire police force rots beneath us?"

"Who?"

"The Scarecrow. He's judge, jury, and executioner now. And everyone here is waiting for his verdict on Gotham's guilty. Open your eyes, Detective. Your offer means nothing, and I never do anything for free." She turns and begins to walk away.

"Miss Kyle," he yells after her. "Selina!"

She pauses, glances back at him over her shoulder.

Blake gestures to the crowd and the madness around them. "Is this everything you thought it would be? The liberation of Gotham? I know this isn't how you wanted things to be. I mean, look at you now. A thief is only as rich as her wealthiest targets, right? We're all poorer now, because of Bane."

Kyle remains silent, but fixes him with a shrewd stare.

"And I'm not going to apologize for putting you away, because you deserved that, you knew you were breaking the law," he continues. "So I have nothing to bargain with, and I am nothing to you. I've lost the only things in my life that mean anything to me. I'm not asking you to help me take him down singlehandedly. I'm asking you to help me rescue someone who, unlike the rest of us, doesn't deserve what's happened to her."

The silence stretches between them, filled up with the buzzing of the surrounding crowd. Finally, she arches a brow and asks, "Your wife?"

"My… ex-girlfriend."

"Listen." Kyle steps close to him, grabs his collar. "I'll take you there, just this once, but I have rules, ok?"

He nods quickly. "Yeah, sure."

"Number one: this is reconnaissance, not a rescue mission. I'm not going to just blast in there with you and waltz out with your girl, because we would all die, do you understand? These men, they're not just mercenaries. They're the fucking League of Shadows."

Blake files that name, _League of Shadows_, away in his mind. "Understood."

"Number two: if we run into Bane, I'm out of there and you would be wise to follow. Otherwise, I will bolt and leave you before you can shout for help. I won't stick out my neck for you, got it?"

"Yes."

"And number three: you follow my word to the letter. If that means we have to leave, even if your girl is in sight, we leave. These rules are unconditional."

Blake nods tightly. "I accept. And thank you, Miss Kyle."

"I just hope this girl of yours is worth it, Detective. She better take you back after this."

* * *

They make their way into City Hall, which is easy work considering how many people are milling about. Then, when no one is looking, Kyle breaks into a maintenance closet. Standing on a ladder, she unscrews the air duct grate on the ceiling and hoists herself up into it as nimbly as a real cat. "Come on," she says impatiently to an astonished Blake.

He climbs the ladder and follows her. The air duct is no more than three feet in all directions, making any sort of quick walk impossible. Instead, he shambles awkwardly in a painful crouch, occasionally using his hands to propel himself forwards after her. Blake has no idea how she knows where they're going, but he trusts her. Several times she stops to consider their heading, and then darts off again confidently.

After an indeterminate amount of time, she stops and whispers, "I think we're close. There should be another grate up ahead that drops into the mayor's office, where Bane is set up. Let's go slow and quiet, take a look."

They inch their way forwards, the air duct becoming gradually wider until both of them are crouching side by side. Voices are drifting up from below, one very deep and the other high. By the time they reach the grate and look down through the bars, Blake already knows that it's Bane and Evie.

He peeks down through the grate, and receives the shock of his life. Evie is lying not twenty feet away, completely naked and _blindfolded_ with her hands tied above her head as Bane looms over her, looking as huge and hulking as ever, with a riding crop in his hand.

Heart in his throat, Blake is prepared to kick down the grate and jump into the room. To do what, he has no idea, but the very sight of Bane that close to Evie makes his blood boil. Before he has moved even an inch however, Kyle lashes out a hand and sinks her fingernails into his wrist; Blake just barely manages to hold in a yelp.

"Remember the rules!" she mouths at him, eyes like daggers.

Blake is furious, but he concedes that she's right. They are deep in enemy territory now, right above one of the most dangerous people in the world. Recklessness would serve no one, including Evie. Instead, he hunches over the grate and listens hard, his heart pounding like a hammer over an anvil.

"What will it take, Evelyn?" Bane is asking her in his characteristic deep rumble. He flicks the crop over her right nipple and then her left. Evie cries out, and Blake balls his fists together tightly.

Bane ignores her, trailing the flat tip of the crop down her flat stomach until it reaches the trim nest of dark hair at the apex of her thighs. He moves it up and down her slit with slow, agonizing strokes, and then brings it down repeatedly with firm swats over the top of her mound.

"Please, no more," she pants, her breasts rising and falling rapidly.

With the fingers of his free hand, Bane spreads apart her nether lips, and shakes his head, tutting softly behind the mask. "So wet and wanton. So depraved," he chides. "Instead of begging me to stop, at least have the decency to say what you really want."

She flings her head from side to side in defiance, the blindfold still over her eyes.

"No?" Bane moves the tip of the crop dangerously close to her exposed clit, swollen and slick with desire. "Then I'll just have to discipline you some more." With a twitch of his fingers, the crop lashes out at the overly sensitized nub of flesh, eliciting a scream.

Blake takes a tremendous gulp. Though it pains him more than he could ever say to see Evie tied up and blind, tortured by this terrorist, to his immense shame he feels the beginning of a boner stretching out the front of his pants. He shifts ever so slightly to hide it from Kyle, who is utterly motionless beside him, her face a stricken mask.

"Ok alright!" Evie yells, her whole body shaking. "Just please, stop, I can't take any more!"

Bane sets down the crop by his side, as casually as if it were a pen. "What will it be then, Evelyn?"

"I want you to kiss me," Evie says breathily. "I want your mouth on my body."

"You know that can't happen."

"Don't you want to taste me?" She arches her back, bringing her breasts closer to his face. Her hips lift off the floor as well, eager despite the earlier abuse on her body.

Bane is still for a moment, considering the feast before him. Then, shocking everyone, he abruptly tears the mask off and tosses it to the side, grabs her face with his massive hands, and leans down to cover her cry of surprise with a deep kiss.

Though Bane's back is facing him, it's obvious that he is utterly dominating Evie with his mouth, and it's equally clear that she is alarmingly aroused by it. Her legs come up to hook around his waist immediately, and beneath his lips her moans come deep and throaty.

_Jesus FUCK_, Blake thinks, his mind exploding.

Below, Bane disengages from Evie's mouth. "You got what you wanted," he says, his voice oddly deep and raspy even without the mask. "But as punishment the blindfold stays on." He places a massive hand over her face to keep her head from popping up as he dips down, licking and sucking at her tits.

And despite Blake's absolute disgust towards everything he's seeing, he cannot deny the raging hard on he has from watching his ex-girlfriend getting pegged by a known and extremely dangerous criminal warlord.

But when Evie mewls against Bane's giant palm, "Yes, that feels good…" he feels a familiar reaction within him: all his emotions shut down abruptly except for the anger, which blasts outwards, running through every fiber of his being until his vision spots out.

Blake looks up at Kyle, mouths "Let's go," at her. She gives him a curt nod, avoiding his eyes, and turns around to lead them noiselessly back out the way they came. All the way through the air duct, climbing down from the ceiling grate, out of the maintenance hallway, and exiting City Hall both remain utterly silent.

"Well… I guess her taking you back is out of the question now, huh?" Kyle jokes weakly on the steps outside. "Guess that wasn't what you wanted to get out of this…"

"Thanks anyway. Let me know if you need a favor in return anytime." Blake may be having one of the worst days of his life, but he's still a man of his word.

"I think we can count this one as a freebie, given the circumstances."

"Yeah, well…" Blake trails off, not knowing what else to say. His mind feels shattered, broken in a million pieces right now. There are serious emotions raging inside of him, making him want to yell and scream, but he knows that Selina Kyle deserves better than that. "Thanks," he finishes lamely.

He doesn't remember walking across half the city to get back to his apartment. All he feels is a debilitating fury, at Batman for being so recklessly brave and rushing to his death, at Gordon for lying to him and all of Gotham, at Bane for destroying his city and taking everything he cared about, and most of all at Evie who…

Who once made him feel like a man who was worth something, but now found her pleasure in the arms of his worst nightmare and greatest enemy. He knows what she looks and sounds like during sex; there was no acting, no faking to what he saw and heard.

_She fucking loved it_.

All he wants to do is crawl into bed and hibernate for the next hundred years, forget everything, but there's someone blocking his way in front of his apartment building.

"Blake, I'm sorry about everything. I need your help, son."

"Commissioner." He hasn't seen Gordon for days, not since Bane read his letter of resignation in front of Blackgate Prison.

"Look, son. I am deeply ashamed of what I did and you have every right to hate me for it. But Gotham needs us now, more than ever. We're the only players left in the game."

Blake stares at him blankly. "What are you asking me to do?"

"Help me take this son of a bitch down. Help me find and deactivate this bomb. Help me restore our city to what it once was."

Unbidden, the image of Bane with the riding crop in his giant hand surfaces in his mind. Bane, who stuck his tongue down Evie's throat and is probably plowing into her right now. Blake nods slowly at the older man.

"Ok. I'm in."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Poor Blake is not having a good day. I feel very bad for doing this to him, but I also felt that it was a necessary push for him to really dedicate his life to fighting Bane's hold on the city.

I kind of tossed Selina Kyle in there last minute, but later realized that I quite enjoyed writing her and I think she's a good addition to this chapter. Trying to decide whether or not I should make her take a bigger role in all of this.

Just saw _Warrior_ with Tom Hardy a few days ago, and really really enjoyed it. In a way, I see Tom Hardy's character as a template for how Bane might've been pre-League of Shadows, before Talia and the mask. All that anger, the abandonment issues, the loneliness and pushing people away. Great film, enormous performance with amazing actors.

About the mask: while pondering how this scene should go, I realized that it was totally possible, because after all, how else would he eat? What I'm assuming is that it's painful for him to not be hooked up to his drugs via the mask at all times, but he'll do it when he has to, like for eating. In this chapter, he does it for Evie, but only on his own terms. He makes her keep the blindfold on because that's how he maintains control on the situation.

***Also, I am moving to a different country this weekend and starting a new job, so updates will be slower in coming while I adjust to my new life. Please be patient with me as I do my best!* **

**Replying to some reviews:**

Ally- after reading your excellent critique of my last chapter, I made some minor edits to better reflect why Evie acted the way she did. Sometimes I forget that she's just a character in my mind, and I expect you guys (my readers) to understand exactly what I mean, but I have changed it to make her thought process more transparent. You see, her life has undergone major upheaval. She thinks Blake is more than likely dead. She is absolutely without a doubt the physically weakest person in the vicinity, and that moment when Bane is roughly sexing her up is when she changes herself to minimize the psychological impact of her situation. A weakened version of Stockholm syndrome, you could say. If she seems out of character, that would be because she is. I very much enjoyed your review and hope you continue to read my work with such a critical eye!

BeautyQueen- Well, Blake certainly saw Evie again. As to whether she'll see him in the future, I don't know yet! We'll just see where this takes us. I am incredibly flattered by your praise, and as to Barsad, well, we're going to see more of him later. Thanks for reading!

Slytherin- Wow, you totally nailed it about the Mayor's stash! It was a little light on the BDSM side, but things may escalate later. Thank you so much for enjoying my interpretation of Bane, he is undoubtedly the hardest character to write because he is such an enigma.

bookluvr- I'm trying so hard for Evie not to fall into the "I'm super weak and helpless" Mary-Sue type or the "I'm secretly an awesome fighter with cool powers" Mary-Sue. It's hard to make a balanced and realistic character who has both, so I'm glad you love her so far!

RainbowToast- Thanks! Writing Bane is the hardest part for me, it's so difficult to extrapolate how he might act in a sex scene because we don't see anything even close to that in TDKR. It's a lot of guesswork, but it feels great that you like where I'm taking him!

Cheekymonkey and lynnieloo- Whether you're rooting for Bane or for Blake, I'm glad you're enjoying things so far and thank you for the review!


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Batman.**

**Hello readers! Sorry for the long absence, I've done my best to continue writing but honestly moving to a new city on a different continent is kicking my ass! Things have mostly settled down but I'm already taking classes/starting work. Between all of these things, I'm afraid I haven't been able to give this story much attention.**

**Thanks for understanding, and thank you so much for sticking with me. **

* * *

Tetracycloxin, myoxitol, hydroxylbetazine…

This is what her days are concerned with now. Bane is at the crux of them, of everything really, but these liquids, changeable and fickle, are the spokes in the wheel. They are blocks with which Evie plans to build everything else, because right now nothing is more important than creating that serum.

Yet at the same time a small part of her doesn't want to finish the task. If she's done, what left is there to do? What worth to her life? Bane enjoys her body and her mind now, but one of those two is certainly more disposable than the other. Evie doesn't want to entertain the possibility that she'll be tossed aside once she has supplied him a new formula.

There's a sort of beauty to be found in chemistry, though. It's a slow process that produces art, patient and precise. It's not for the hasty or the haphazard; caution guards every step of the procedure.

Evie is no chemist, but she understands the basics enough to appreciate just how complicated Bane's serum must be. By all the laws of nature, the amount of analgesic he needs is enough to knock out a small elephant, but it must also be refined enough for aeration. In other words, he requires a liquid formula which can be turned into gas by his mask and then delivered to his body through inhalation.

Bane is a paradox, she thinks, lying languidly on the mattress and watching him put on his vest, his massive back muscles rippling like waves in the ocean.

It's been three months since she was first taken into his custody, and in that time she's seen him choke a man to death with no more than a contraction of his fingers, seen him knock through a brick wall with one solid punch. But without the mask, he can remain on his feet for only ten minutes at most, and the crippling white-hot pain sets in within two. Evie has never seen him eat or sleep. She knows he must, but never has she witnessed it with her own eyes.

Bane is more than a man. He is power itself, an unstoppable force.

Evie bends to him, as slim and flexible as a reed, lifts herself up at the touch of his hand. When he takes off the mask to kiss her, she is never allowed to see or touch, though she _pleads _and _begs_. Nor does she ever see him naked. This is the nature of their relationship: Bane, all knowing and withholding; Evie, in the dark and helpless but receptive nonetheless.

The first time she produces a formula which is comfortable for him over the full course of a day, he covers her eyes with one hand while fingering her with the other, bending her right over the work table, and then, mask off, sucks on her nipples. When he bites down on one, hard, she comes immediately, trembling uncontrollably beneath him.

But by the next morning when it's clear the effects have worn off, Bane strings her up by her wrists, knotting the other end of the tie to the bar holding up the drapes. He then shoves one of Mayor Santoro's vibrators into her, sets it to the lowest buzz, and leaves her hanging thus for hours.

The weak and constant vibrations leave her completely unrelieved but continuously aroused, so that by the time Bane returns to the office that evening, Evie is a mess of frayed nerves and painfully sensitive.

"My serum should have been done long before now," he declares, untying her wrists. "I've been far too lenient with you. You'll start over tomorrow."

She nods, shaking and sinking onto the floor, aching for his touch but fearing it also. Everything about Bane is a double-edged sword. That night alone in her parlor Evie rubs herself furiously, but her own fingers can do nothing when unyielding flesh and forceful hands are what she craves.

* * *

Captain Jones' face turns to pulp below Bane's knee, squashed as easily as an overripe fig.

Blake is huddled behind a column with Lucius Fox and Miranda Tate, for the second time within mere feet of Gotham's reckoning but once again hidden. He fingers his Glock 17, feeling the reassuring cold metal against the pad of his thumb. With one well-placed shot to Bane's head he could end all of this, though it would mean certain death for himself as well; he is deep in the den of snakes.

His own life matters very little to him at this point. He's always known, after all, had accepted years ago, that he would perish in the line of duty. So much the better if he went down after killing one of the worst threats to the citizens of Gotham.

But there is more at stake now.

Blake had lied to Commissioner Gordon and Captain Jones; he hadn't just happened to wander into the upper stories of City Hall and bump into Fox and Tate, who have been held hostage since the day Bane took over the city. The truth was that after several months he had resolved to go back and kill Bane once and for all. Selina Kyle would skin him alive if she knew of his foolhardy plan, but after all this time he had still not been able to shake the image of him and Evie from his mind. It was only blind providence which led Blake to find Fox and Tate first, and the news they imparted to him was so astounding that it must be dealt with before anything else.

Along with displacing Bane, locating the nuclear bomb had always been Gordon's top priority. But after Blake was told that the bomb was set to blow whether or not the unknown triggerman detonated it…

Well, everything else was demoted to secondary importance.

Blake doesn't know what he can do about the bomb, especially now that the covert special forces sent from the outside world have been killed in front of him, but at least he can contribute to Bane's demise. He'll just have to trust that Gordon, Fox, and Tate will figure out a way to neutralize the bomb.

"What should we do with the bodies?" one of Bane's men is asking, a tall and lanky dark haired man with a Hungarian accent and an assault rifle in his hands.

"Place them where the whole world can see," answers Bane simply, already turning to go.

Blake slides his gun from its holster. He looks at Tate huddled beside him, her expression strangely calm. Though he's never met her before, Blake can tell she is a person of upright and steely principles, a reliable person who will do what's necessary.

"There's a girl in the mayor's office," he whispers to her. "She was taken by force and has been Bane's captive for months. She has likely been subjected to sexual abuse. If you can, find her and see her safely out of here."

Tate's face takes on a stricken look. "What?"

"Please. She's important to me." He's about to rise, gun cocked and ready, but a weathered brown hand on his knee stops him.

Lucius Fox's eyes drill into his with quiet power and intelligence. "If you care for this girl, do not do this, Officer Blake."

"Someone has to."

"Not today, and not you. Gotham still has need of bright and brave young men such as yourself. They are in short supply these days." The older man's face is tired, drawn, and suddenly Blake realizes that he's thinking of Bruce Wayne. It has come to the point when even Fox and Gordon, the Batman's oldest and most stalwart supporters, no longer believe he will return.

In that moment, Blake decides to live.

_He's right, I'm of absolutely no use if I recklessly sacrifice myself here and now. There will be other opportunities. Only by living can I protect the innocent_. He slides the Glock 17 back into its holster.

Fox nods.

"You should leave now, Officer," says Tate, who seems to have recovered from her earlier shock. "The men are gone for now. Lucius and I will be accounted for later, they'll know if we're gone, but you need to go. There's a service door down the hall to the left that's usually unguarded at this hour, it'll take you out to White Hill Boulevard."

"Thank you. I will tell Gordon what's happened, and I _will_ be back for you." He pauses. "If you see the girl… her name is Evelyn. Tell her… Tell her I will find her after all of this is over, one way or another."

* * *

Selina Kyle is draped casually over the sofa when he arrives back home in his apartment. It's become customary for her to drop by, completely unannounced, at all hours of the day or night. In this new Gotham she's a stray cat, and Blake has more or less taken her in.

It's not that she needs him for a place to stay; now that more than half the city's most opulent homes are empty, there's plenty of spaces she could inhabit, especially with her… _persuasive skills_. It's not money either; the very idea is laughable, considering how much wealthier she is from her years of thieving than he on his meager paycheck.

Sometimes the cat just likes to drop by for a pat on the head and a drop of milk, that's all.

She raises her head and watches him take off his coat. "How did it go with Captain Jones today?" They've taken to a sort of strange, farcical domesticity, asking about each other's day and sharing very sloppy meals together (cooking is one area in which Blake is better than her, shockingly). It's a lot more practical than it is romantic, but the arrangement does offer a small measure of companionship in an otherwise completely upended world.

Blake reflects that he lost one girlfriend to a serial killer terrorist only to gain a pseudo-girlfriend who steals for a living and sometimes collaborates with said terrorist.

"Jones is dead. So is the rest of his team."

Selina ponders this silently.

Blake collapses onto the armchair, utterly drained. She's wearing her catsuit, he notices casually, which means she just came in from a job or she's about to go out again. Too tired to inquire, his eyelids droop lower and lower until he's drifting along in a blissful and weightless dream…

When he surfaces, he blinks and finds that Selina has laid the table. Two plates, each with a pile of macaroni and cheese, await them.

"Care for some milk?" she asks, holding up a carton with that knowing smile on her face.

Blake doesn't even ask how she got it; the food supply trucks coming in bring only a very limited amount of milk, but he's learned that Selina can get almost anything she wants with minimal effort. He nods, and she pours out a generous measure for both of them.

They eat in companionable silence. Blake doesn't tell her that he intended kill Bane today, that he had his chance and would have almost certainly died if not for Lucius Fox and Miranda Tate stopping him. She doesn't talk about what she does when she's not at his apartment with him. Instead, both of them pretend for just a few brief moments that they aren't trapped in a city that's rigged to blow within a few weeks. They talk of other things, mindless and trivial things of no consequence.

He doesn't ever mention Evie. Selina doesn't ask.

* * *

**Author's Note: This chapter is the shortest one so far, but ironically took me the longest to write just because I've been so busy. I'm experimenting with a different style, less verbose and more to the point, to better reflect the breaking down of both Evie and Blake's lives. Both of them are in such stressful situations, it's impossible to experience such things without emerging as different people. Hopefully this comes through in the sleeker style.**

**During the scene in which the special forces men speak briefly with Blake, Fox, and Tate: I remember thinking, "How the hell did Blake manage to find Fox and Tate after they were kidnapped and held hostage by Bane's men?" Then I realized I had already given him a reason in my previous chapter. Funny how my contrived plot is fitting in quite nicely with existing Nolanverse. **

**Also, people seemed to really like Catwoman so I'm writing her a bit more. The more I thought about it, the more I decided I liked the Blake/Selina buddy cop dynamic, though entirely (fan)fictional. Both of them are loners, and don't quite know their place in this new Gotham. Both of them admire and respect Bruce Wayne/Batman only to come to terms with the fact that he's gone. And both are a bit emotionally stunted. She's quite difficult for me to get a handle on, she's so ambiguous sometimes and I never really know exactly what she's thinking (like Bane). It's a good exercise for me as a writer though, so I enjoy it.**

**Responding to some reviews:**

Ally- I'm definitely planning something big, but I don't want to give it away just yet! It will definitely be emotional and explosive. It might be the hardest thing I've ever written... Stay tuned because it's coming and it will be huge!

frustratedstudent- I want Evie and Blake to meet again too, but I'm not sure it'll happen yet. We'll see where this story takes us, it's going to be a hell of a ride.

RainbowToast- WOW, yes, you hit the nail on the head exactly! I'm so pleased that you understood what I was trying to convey about Blake's mental fragility, and yes, wanting to save Evie and wanting to kill Bane ARE two different emotions, though they intersect! You're brilliant, and I'm so glad you're enjoying this!

Cheekymonkey- Thank you for the kind wishes! I enjoyed writing Selina, and hopefully I portray her well in the chapters to come.

Slytherin- I can't tell you who Evie will end up with, because honestly I don't know yet! And who's to say she'll end up with anyone? Anything is possible, thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Batman.**

**Once again, apologies for the long silence! Not only have I been crazy busy between schoolwork and actually working, but this has been by far the hardest chapter to write. As in, I was already thinking about how to do this months ago but never felt like I got it right until now. You'd probably cry if you saw the number of drafts I threw away.**

**But here it is, finally! Hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for still reading. **

* * *

It appears that Valko doesn't know how to shake.

Evie discovers this one day when the dog wanders in casually, for once not with his master. She sets down her flasks and tongs (though she feels she's close, so close to the serum) to pet the Rottweiler, massaging the two brown dots that serve as his eyebrows against a massive black face. Fierce he may look, and fierce his master claims he can act, though Evie has never seen him in anything but the sweetest temper. Instead, he just places his head onto her lap, drooling slightly onto the expensive dress shirt she filched from the mayor's closet.

She's teaching him how to raise a paw and place it in her hand when a silky sweet voice drifts in from the double-wide mahogany doors:

"So you're the one I've been hearing about."

Evie spins around, stunned. It's the first female voice aside from her own that she's heard in weeks and, even more shocking, it belongs to someone she recognizes.

"Miranda… Tate?"

"That's what some people call me," replies the brunette easily, her mauve lips curling into a smile. She's wearing a taupe wrap-around tunic with brown trousers, wavy dark hair swept into an artfully messy twist.

"I saw you speak once," says Evie in awe. "At a gala last year, for the Foundation of Impoverished Children."

"Ah, yes. I gave a good speech that night, didn't I?" Her exotic accent is sultry, almost hypnotic.

"It was a great speech. I've always admired your efforts at improving the lives of Gotham's poor. You've been an inspiration to me." Evie's finding it hard not to gush in front of one of her biggest role models: Miranda Tate, multi-millionaire philanthropist and without a doubt the classiest woman in Gotham. "What… what are you doing here?"

"Oh dear. There's so much you don't know, isn't there? You call me Miranda Tate, but do you know what the men here call me?" She saunters forwards, closing the gap between them.

"No." And suddenly Evie's inner alarm goes off, pushing aside her adulation. Something about this feels very wrong, Tate's presence here at City Hall, walking casually into Bane's private office as if she owns the place…

"They call me the Desert Rose. Or sometimes Bane's Rose."

Evie stares at her blankly, uncomprehending.

"I was told that he actually heeds your word, keeps you safe from the other men," Tate continues, giving her an appraising look. "I suppose I can see why he likes you. We have the same hair, long and dark, and some of your features look a little like mine. Though obviously my skin is nicer."

"You… you know Bane?" Evie stammers. "I don't understand—"

"Of course you don't. How could you, when you don't have all the pieces of the puzzle?" Tate seats herself casually at the desk, fingers some of Evie's notes with disinterest. "You're at least moderately intelligent, I'll give you that, but what you fail to realize is how insignificant you are in all of this."

Evie blinks slowly, her mind struggling to grasp an impossible idea: Miranda Tate, philanthropic star of Gotham, in league with Bane, terrorist extraordinaire?

"Maybe you think that you're actually starting to mean something to him," Tate continues. "But you would be wrong. You're just a meaningless distraction from the ultimate goal."

"What are you, then?" Evie asks, edging closer to the workstation slowly, eyeing one of the hydraulic syringes that she uses in her experiments. A few are lying out on the surface, and they're the closest things she has to weapons in this room.

"I am that ultimate goal, naturally. I have been preoccupied with my own affairs, but his place by my side is permanent. He is the thorn to my rose."

"And what am I?"

Tate crosses her legs with finality. Everything about her is composed and sure. "Just a pawn on a board with many other pieces. Bane is the king, but I am the queen."

Evie stares her straight in the eye. "Well… maybe I'm the other queen across the board from you."

"Ah, but who would be your king? It certainly can't be your poor boyfriend." She tsks sympathetically, one graceful hand reaching out to pet Valko's head.

"What?"

"Officer John Blake, was it? Such a tragedy. Out of commission before his time, certainly."

All the air in her lungs whooshes out, and the room spins slightly. This isn't anything you didn't already know, Evie tells herself sternly. You already suspected he was dead… Yet, it was different. She'd never heard it from anyone else's lips. She reaches a hand out to steady herself against the wall, taking deep breaths.

Tate stands and glides to the door. "I'm glad to have met you just this once, Dr. Chen. Now I can rest assured that you were nothing special." She gives a deliberate nod to an unseen person outside before striding out, Valko following at her heels.

And then in comes Barsad.

"You know what's the only thing sweeter than fucking, Doc?" he says, stalking forwards like a panther. "Killing. Most men learn to separate the two pleasures. I'm not one of them."

Evie's heart hammers wildly in her chest. For the first time since the day she was taken from St. Swithin's, she feels truly vulnerable. Bane had been her shield, but now Tate has exposed her to danger, made her defenseless all over again with her words. "Fuck you," she spits out recklessly, in a last ditch attempt at bravado.

"I plan on it," Barsad replies, smooth and mirthless. He lifts up the ever-present assault rifle hanging from his shoulder. "Now, you're gonna give me what I want, Doc, or the killing will come before the fucking. And you'll like that even less, I can guarantee. Strip. "

With the rifle trained on her Evie unbuttons Mayor Santoro's shirt with shaking hands, lets it drop onto the floor. She's not wearing pants, since the shirts are big enough to be dresses on her petite body, so it's short work before the undergarments are gone too and she's stark naked.

Frozen, Evie watches with mute horror as he fastens her wrists together and behind her back with his belt, a heavy brown leather tourniquet that leaves her helplessly uncoordinated. There's no pause for contemplation of her body, neither appraisal or approval.

Barsad is stone cold business.

With a heavy shove she's thrown over the work station face down, in a sick parody of her sex play with Bane. Legs kicked apart, arms kept painfully still by the belt.

"You know what? I don't think you're ready for my cock yet," he breathes onto her neck. Suddenly, she feels cold metal against her flesh below, making her jump forwards. "Shh shh shh. You forget, Doc, I hear you all the time with the big boss. I know just what you need. My baby here, it's big and hard enough for you and it doesn't shoot blanks either."

Dread grips her as the smooth, icy barrel slides forwards slowly and she feels it inside of her. And yes, it is harder than any man she's ever been with, but the fear of it is so overwhelming that Evie chokes, feeling the bile rise within. Barsad keeps one hand tightly gripped on the back of her neck but there's no need; she's immobilized by her terror.

In and out. In and out.

His breathing quickens. He releases his hand on her neck, slides it down the length of her body until it reaches the level of his crotch. Evie hears the zipper go down, and feels only the smallest shred of relief when he starts beating off in his own hand instead of inserting it in her. But as the sounds of his masturbation accelerate, so too does the speed and strength behind the hand controlling the rifle. Faster and faster, harder and harder it goes, banging painfully against her cervix each time. Barsad pants heavily, starts chuckling.

_Click_, she hears the sound of the safety coming off.

…

Every second lasts a lifetime as she waits for the inevitable.

…

_He's going to shoot me and I'm going to die. _

…

And then, just as suddenly, the barrel of the gun is wrenched out of her, eliciting a cry of pain. "You enjoy that, Doc? I did too. Now I'm going to take you while we're both still fresh." He rubs his fully erect penis against her backside. Evie hears the sound of the rifle being set aside. She doesn't know if what's coming next is better or worse than what came before.

With quick efficient moves he unbuckles the belt and then brings it down on her ass with a whistling crack. He strikes her again, and raises his arm for a third when a booming bark causes both of them to jump.

Valko has somehow come back into the room unnoticed, barking loudly. He's not being particularly aggressive or threatening, but he knows something is deeply wrong with the situation.

"Jesus fuck, get out of here Valko!" Letting out a string of Hungarian curses, Barsad turns around and aims a kick at his head.

Without thinking, Evie lurches forward, one hand reaching out for one of the syringes on the table. Whirling around, she throws herself onto Barsad's back and sinks the needle deep into his right shoulder, down to the hilt.

With a yell his arms jerk around attempting to grab her, but she slides down his back just out of reach, stabbing him once, twice, three times along his spine. By the time she's scrambled away, he's fallen to his knees.

"You. Little. Cunt." he says, his eyes already red and unfocused.

Then he falls face forward, nose crushed with a sickening crunch against the parquet flooring.

It takes her several long minutes before she can tear her eyes from his body. Her hand is still clutching the empty syringe tightly; she raises it up to eyelevel. It's labeled NH-413, one of her own creations. The key ingredient from that batch was krokodil, a drug that delivers ten times the potency of morphine within seconds.

As Valko whines and paws at his master's body, Evie forces herself to stand. After limping to the bathroom, she vomits up everything that was in her stomach. Then she wraps herself up in Mayor Santoro's perfect white towels, turns on the shower, and huddles beneath the scorching hot spray thinking of John.

* * *

This is how Bane finds her several hours later.

"What happened?" he asks simply.

Evie looks up at him, imposingly filling up the doorframe with his size, as imperious as ever. She has nothing to say, but shivers and pulls the towel closer. The hot water is long gone, but still she cannot find the strength to move from the shower.

"Why is my lieutenant dead on the floor of my office, Evelyn?"

No words come to mind.

Bane scoops her up in his arms as easily as a child lifts a doll. He sets her on the edge of the bathtub, and she lets out a small exhale of pain. His enormous hands cup her elbows.

"You're going to tell me what happened." Though his touch is gentle, his voice demands nothing less than the expedient truth.

At his touch, Evie feels her face screwing up against her will, and tears push themselves out from her eyes. "Who is Miranda Tate to you?" she chokes out.

Bane's face betrays nothing, though he pauses before answering. "She is of no concern."

"She is of concern to me wh-when she let your man touch me..." Evie grips her hands together between her knees, her whole body shaking. "And she knew... she knew that John w-was dead. How?"

Bane remains silent, but lifts away the soaked towel from her body and hands her a dry one. When he sees that she has no intention of moving, he brusquely runs the towel over her skin twice and then folds her up into one of the mayor's fluffy robes.

Evie's not sure how it happened, but suddenly she's back in her parlor room, lying down on the upholstered sofa, and Bane is tucking in a thick duvet around her.

"You will not leave this room until I return. You're going to sleep now, Evelyn."

She says nothing. She's thinking of John's beautiful hands, shaped gracefully like a piano player's but also capable of handling a gun. Or making terrible blueberry waffles. Or folding paper cranes for the kids at St. Swithin's.

Evie turns away from Bane, doesn't want to look at him or think about his mysterious relationship with Miranda Tate. She doesn't watch him walk out the door.

* * *

**Author's note: Wow. Yes, this took me absolutely AGES to write. I kept on reworking it over and over again, because I was never satisfied. Am I perfectly satisfied with this version as it is? Not 100%, but I think it's as close as I can get. Because that's how brilliant Miranda Tate / Talia is. I think she's definitely the sort of person who doesn't ever let you know exactly what's going on inside her head. **

**In fact... I'm toying with the idea of breaking away from tradition and actually writing the next chapter from her POV, just because the idea intrigues me so much. Of course the key thing here is the relationship between Talia and Bane. Just what exactly is going on there? Am I a good enough writer to portray it? Do I even know what I'm doing with the story here? **

**And would you guys even want to read that? I'm open to suggestions and criticisms! **

**Responding to some reviews:**

Ally: Was this big enough for you? It's kind of weird to be at this point because I was planning on having this chapter happening for a very long time. It was sort of a midpoint for me, and all the chapters that came before this was just sort of filling in the gaps, almost. Also, your suggestion about a confrontation is duly noted. Already working on it. It's just inevitable, isn't it? Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Rainbow Toast: Glad you like the Selina/Blake dynamic! I'm trying to figure out what I want to do with her exactly, outside of what she does in the film. And, YES, somehow you always understand where I'm coming from- I always try to write Bane as though, no matter what he's doing with Evie, he's always keeping a part of himself away from the moment and away from her. Because he's just not able to share everything. He's not that person. No matter what, this isn't some fluffy romantic comedy. All these characters are damaged people. And I'm glad that comes through to my readers!

CheekyMonkey: Thanks for the kind wishes, hope you enjoy!

BTGJONES: Thank you for your private message, it basically gave me the kick in the ass that I needed to finish this! Thanks for reminding me that I've got readers out there who are still interested in what I have to write. :)


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